


Metu Vincta

by PridetotheFall



Series: Beautiful Chains [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Divergent, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of rambling and subplots, Multi, Mutual Pining, Original Character(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Romance, Slow Burn, THIS IS THE HAPPY ONE OKAY, The Slowest Burn That Ever Burned Slow, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-29 01:47:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5111837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PridetotheFall/pseuds/PridetotheFall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Envy is dead. Solas is recovering at Skyhold. And Senna Lavellan cannot find relief. Despite it all, she finds her feelings for Solas blooming anew. She wants to love him, much as she knows he wants to love her.</p>
<p>But all his touches feel like fingers around her throat and whispers of deception in her ear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stories and Their Telling

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome! This is the second story in a two-part adventure. It's not necessary to read Envy Me, the first story, but you will learn a lot more about the relationships, nuances, and backstory if you do, so I highly recommend it ^_^
> 
> I hope you enjoy and, as always, comments are loved and appreciated.

Varric Tethras was a storyteller because there were always stories to tell. Now, that didn't mean every story deserved telling. There were more that didn't need repeating than there were ones that should be passed on for ages. And then there were those stories. The ones that deserved _not_ to be told. 

On a level, everyone had them. Secrets, regrets, family curses, they ran the gamut. Those he didn't mind. It was the horror stories, the ones that made a person question just how fucked up reality could get, that deserved to stay untold. 

This was one of them. 

Varric thought he'd seen all the strange shit there was to see during his time with Hawke. Hell, living in Kirkwall gave him plenty of story fodder he wouldn't have asked for even if he could think up half that nonsense on his own. But then the Breach happened, and Corypheus turning out to be very not dead, and . . . this. 

It turned into one of those times you kick yourself in hindsight for not listening to instinct, an instinct that might just have been last night's meat digesting. First it was Chuckles acting a little more distant than usual, a little more snippy. Nothing big. Varric saw the way he looked at Sunflower and assumed. They all assumed. 

The whole damn mess was so surreal. One minute they were resting after the miraculous trek to Skyhold – after the miraculous escape from Haven, mind – the next Leliana's scout was informing him and Bull to gather in the garden. With weapons. 

Uneasy didn't begin to explain what they felt. And they weren't stupid enough to deny the order. So they took their commanded positions and waited for Senna, since she was the only one that knew what the hell was going on. 

Her usually bronze skin was pale under all those freckles – that had been his first thought for her nickname – and she was visibly shaken, even from where he stood. Ten thousand guesses wouldn't have given him the answer to why. 

Mayhem broke when Solas grabbed her throat, but he was faster and set an impressive barrier before the first arrow let fly. 

“Templars! Gather with Collins on the battlements. Break that barrier,” Cullen shouted first. Cassandra was next, ordering a rearrangement of positions. And Varric got to sit there and watch as the duo inside stilled, eyes hazed in sickly green. 

That certainly changed things. 

“Where do you think you're going?” Cassandra shot as Cullen moved from his post. 

“We need every templar available to get in there before that _thing_ possesses her,” he said.

“No.” Cassandra grabbed the man's coat until he slapped her off. 

“You would let her die? Or worse, become an abomination?” Cullen cried. 

“We have enough templars already!”

A raging screech broke through their fight. The demon, now in its true form, fell away from Senna and flailed its limbs like some deranged, freakishly pale spider. For a second the creature seemed cowed, slinking back as if it was _afraid_ of her. Then, like a cornered animal, it struck. Senna responded with a rather impressive dodging game. 

“You are not going up there.” Cassandra's voice pulled on Varric's attention. 

“I can't stand here and do nothing while Senna is tortured and killed,” Cullen responded, desperation ringing clear in his tone. Ah, he actually felt kinda bad for Curly. 

“We are already doing what we can. You are letting your personal experience cloud your judgement,” she said. 

“So be it! I know what's at stake,” he snarled. 

“I will not let you throw away months of progress.” But Cullen was already trying to walk past her. Cassandra was all sorts of fast and reared a fist back to sock the commander in the jaw. 

“Follow me or get. out.” Her deadly tone set everyone in earshot at attention. Cullen shook out his disorientation, rubbed his cheek, and stood up. He glared hard at Cassandra, then slowly turned back to his station and waited, fist shaking on the pommel of his sword. 

Varric fiddled with Bianca, making sure she was ready for the second the barrier came down. He'd be damned if his arrow wasn't the first to hit. A shiver ran under his skin at seeing that jawbone necklace swinging against the creature's chest. He couldn't quite describe the level of creepy it was. 

“Chargers, I want you in there first,” Bull said, gathered with his own men to one side. “Chantry Shuffle drill.”

“Aw, Chief, you're always sending me in first,” his second, Krem, said. 

“If you can't handle it you can sit in the corner and pick flowers with the Sisters,” Bull teased back. 

“Least they'd be nice to look at,” Krem mumbled. 

With a small whoosh of air the barrier came down. Varric appreciated that Bull's Chargers switched instantly from fun to battle mode, and Krem was indeed first on the field. 

One would think, with so many soldiers to fight it, the demon would go down fast. But it didn't. Because that would be too damn easy. And it kept doing this screeching thing that would disorient everyone close enough to catch the brunt of the sound. It was a good trick and Varric wasn't ashamed to admit how happy he was he got to stick around the sidelines plugging it with arrows. The claws on that thing were enormous and gutted more than one man with no amount of finesse. The mages did their best to keep up barriers but sometimes even that wasn't enough. 

It was controlled chaos. The templars on the battlement were down for the count after removing the barrier. The demon kept throwing people aside and jumping away with a speed that shouldn't have been possible on those ridiculously spindly legs. At one point Cassandra, obviously sick of running around after it, barreled the demon over so she and the others could wail on its protective barrier. That was nice to watch. Of course then it dug its claws into two soldiers, swiped at Blackwall, and screeched at the top of its lungs. 

And behind him Senna was yelling for someone to get her a staff. No one in their right mind would listen to her though, not with her bleeding all over the ground. He did glance back once – which he regretted immediately – to see how she was holding up. Her face was contorted in desperate rage and the healer kept having to hold her back from running into the battle. Her anger was just a cover, of course. There was a deep horror in her eyes, fraying the strands of sanity holding her together and, well, he looked away pretty quick. Right now there was nothing he could do but put up a damn good fight for her.

In the end, they weakened the demon up considerably and Senna got to land her story worthy final blow. Bull looked like someone told him his birthday came early this year. And even while the healer was mending his burned hands in the aftermath, he could only laugh.

“Krem, did you see that? She was completely on fire. Like a little hell-ball. And how she kept holding on until there was nothing but ash? Now that's how you kill a demon. You think she could do it again? Make it our signature attack?” 

Krem rolled his eyes. “Not if it catches your hands on fire every time, you lummox.” 

“Nah! It doesn't hurt that bad.” He shook with a primal growl of satisfaction only a qunari could make. “Redheads!”

As for Senna, killing the demon brought no comfort, not that he was surprised. Sometimes even death wasn't enough to fix the damage done. Varric had seen Dalish elves before – Merrill and some others – but none had ever looked so feral as Senna did leaving the battlefield. With her body marked by war, her clothes still smoking from the fire, and blood fresh on her side and back, she was the perfect image of some fairy tale goddess of vengeance and wild ferocity. Not surprisingly, no one got in her way when she made for the half-built stables. 

Cassandra was the only one that talked to her before she galloped out of the fortress – that they later learned was called Skyhold – like some beast was still behind her. 

“She is going to retrieve Solas,” the Seeker informed Leliana and Cullen, who were overseeing clean up. 

“She thinks he is still alive?” Nightingale asked. 

Cassandra nodded. “She seemed certain of it, and where to find him. She rides to Therinfal.”

“If that's the case, we should inform Barris. The recruits there can begin the search,” Cullen suggested. His new bruise was blooming nicely and he'd gotten a couple scrapes from the fight. His shield had taken the brunt of the battle. It was mangled and scratched beyond repair. 

“I will send a raven. In the meantime, we will have to work on rumor control. If word gets out the Inquisition has been harboring a demon imposter our reputation may never recover,” Leliana said. “Josephine and I will work on a cover story for the battle and have it to you within the hour. Until then, keep everyone involved contained in the garden. No one must know of this.”

Well, the ladies spun a nice enough story about a rift opening up in the garden and the epic battle that ensued. But it was inevitable someone would spill the beans and it didn't take long for Skyhold to buzz with stories about the demon. He gave it to Ruffles for immediately twisting it to be as complimentary as possible, with emphasis put on how Andraste led the Herald to discover the demon and unmask it before it could cause trouble. Senna would be furious about it when she got back, and the whole bit about not causing trouble was a flaming pile of nug shit, but it was the most effective thing their ambassador could have done. Pretty soon everyone was on board to sing the Herald's praises. 

Hell, it wasn't like the idea of Andraste telling Senna was a lie either. No one, not even Leliana, who usually knew everything about everything, knew _how_ the Dalish figured out a demon was posing as Solas. With how her relationship with 'him' had been progressing, Varric had a few ideas how she figured it out. None of them were pleasant in the slightest. 

That was the sucker punch of the whole affair. Those close enough to Senna knew. And it wasn't like finding out the guy you had dinner with the other night was actually a demon in disguise wasn't a big deal on its own. Some of them took it better than others. On his part, Varric was glad he didn't dream or he'd be rolling in the nightmares about now. 

Cullen was relieved of duty for a couple days and he spent most of his time either locked up in his tower room or silently pacing the battlements. Varric got him to sit down for a drink once but the man was so tired he wasn't much for conversation. “I was almost able to sleep through the night, you know,” he'd said. That wasn't the case anymore. And there wasn't a damn thing he could do to help it. 

Iron Bull put on a good face. He'd been genuinely happy about the way the battle went down and spent most of his time regaling people with the story. But he'd have the little moments when it hit him again and he'd stare at nothing or laugh a little too forcefully. And he got Krem to smack him with a stick a couple times, which apparently made him feel better. Varric was a bit taken aback at how open he was about the whole affair when they sat down to talk about it. It was nice to have someone to wade through the muck with. 

Blackwall spent his time trying not to think about it, as he got busy helping the builders put together parts of Skyhold. The man worked tirelessly dawn to dusk and when Varric asked if he needed to get anything out of his system, he laughed sardonically. “If anyone needed the comfort it would be Senna. There's too much to do to worry about what I might have done. It would've been nice to slay the beast myself but it wasn't for me. Though I am curious how Solas of all people ended up possessed.”

“Technically he wasn't possessed,” Varric said. It was something he'd considered too. “Senna went off to find him so the demon wasn't in his body. It probably stuck him in some dark corner to rot while it made friends.”

Blackwall rolled his shoulder and muttered, “Don't make it worse.”

Cassandra spent her time beating up training dummies and bullying recruits as she took over Cullen's job. He wasn't touching that with a ten foot pole. Leliana would take care of her if need be. 

Vivienne, too, he stayed out of the way of. He couldn't get a good read on the Enchanter, but going by the number of letters she sent out and the way she started commanding the templars of Skyhold, he assumed she was coping in her own way. 

He had to talk Sera down from her metaphorical tree. Really, it was one of the tavern's roofs. And when he got her down he patiently sat through the spewed variations of “I's not right.” and “Fucking demons.” until she felt well enough to eat again. Bull was actually good at keeping her level and the two spent their free time drawing renditions of demon faces and sticking them with different pointy objects. 

Then there was the Tevinter mage. He hadn't been involved in the Inquisition long, but he was smart enough to ask questions. 

“I heard you were the man to come to for information,” Dorian said as Varric sat at a small table in the broken down main hall. At least it was better than being outside. 

“Depends on the information and how good the alcohol is,” Varric answered. He still motioned to the nearby chair. 

Dorian sat with him. “Sadly, at this point acquiring anything less atrocious than pisswater is out of the question.”

“I know, I'm a dwarf. I have to keep my eye on lucrative commodities. It's in my blood,” he said. 

“Then perhaps you could spare a favor for a man who risked his life fighting a demon without any bloody clue what was going on?” 

“Ah, that, I think I can do,” Varric said. And he explained who Solas was and how he'd helped the Inquisition since the start, answering most of Dorian's questions about the circumstances of the matter. There were a few things he didn't know, but what he gave was enough to sate the man's curiousity.

“Strange. I thought them a couple,” Dorian pointed out when Varric mentioned nothing of it. 

“Yeah . . .” He let that just hang in the air. 

“Oh!” The mage caught on quick. “Dear me. That's dreadful.”

“Listen, don't go spouting it off the battlements. For one, Josephine would skin me alive. For another, it was bad enough having to deal with the thing in the first place without adding a potential elf-demon romance to the mix. The Randy Dowager couldn't even make that shit up.”

“No, no. I am sworn to secrecy. But you must admit, that is highly unusual activity for a demon. It did not try to possess her the entire time it was, ah, with her?” The mage rubbed his fingers over his mustache.

“I don't know anything about it. I'd say not. Seemed like it only tried to take her over when we cornered it,” Varric said, really not looking forward to the turn the conversation was taking. 

“And it already had Solas. Perhaps its intention was different then? It was obviously one of the higher demons like Pride or Desire. It could have been drawn to the magic of the mark and sought to control it. If possessing her voided the effect, the demon would have wanted her to remain intact to fully utilize the magic it wanted. Seeing as we know very little about the mark itself, its hard to know how demons see it, or if they can use its power in some way,” Dorian speculated, an excitement rising in his tone. 

“So you're saying every demon in the Fade wants at Senna for her glowing hand?” 

“I'm only theorizing, of course. It is still fascinating to consider.”

“Uh, yeah. You can consider if you want. I'm just going to pray this never happens again,” Varric said.

“No one should suffer such a thing once, let alone a second time,” Dorian agreed. They decided to turn their conversation towards more pleasant things.

Not three days after the incident Leliana received a message stating Solas had been found and was now recovering from his injuries. It was as much a relief as it was a miracle. He'd have to start keeping track of all of Senna's miracles at this rate. 

It took a fortnight for them to return. It was a quiet affair with minimal attention, though they arrived mid afternoon in plain view of half of Skyhold. There were whispers, of course, but the pair looked enough of a mess for people to let them be. Solas needed to eat more – a lot more – to get back to looking healthy and there was a soft limp to his step, no doubt the remnants of a much more grievous injury. Senna could probably sleep for a week no problem. And now there was a grim set to her jaw replacing the brightness that earned her the name Sunflower. 'Awkward' was a good word to describe the atmosphere between them, with a hint of melancholy. They didn't stay next to each other longer than they had to.

And there was someone else with them. A lanky kid that he swore he'd seen before. If you weren't looking right at him he would disappear into the background until you almost forgot he was there. 

Turned out his name was Cole and he was . . . different. He would flit around like no one could see him. Except no one _could_ see him, for the most part. 

“Come on, kid. You can let them talk to you,” Varric told him not soon after their introduction, having seen the pale boy stare at a group of Skyhold residents.

“They don't need me,” he said.

“Er, of course most people don't need each other. But it's nice to get to know people, make friends, you know,” Varric responded. 

Cole looked down at him, then at the three humans he'd been observing. Varric stood back and folded his arms with a smile as he watched the boy approach. 

He held up one hand in greeting. “Hi. I'm Cole.”

The others mumbled their greeting and waited for him to continue. Cole simply stood there. Varric, seeing the error of his advice, dragged him away with an apology to the confused humans. “On second thought, let's work on your social skills first.”

Cole followed obediently as Varric returned to the newly rebuilt tavern, his home away from home. “So, kid, what exactly brought you here? I know you came with Senna, but I haven't gotten a chance to talk to her.”

“A blind eye turning to face a face I'd seen and never knew. But the Wolf wanders the ways, a monster searching for me, and I see. It was my fault. Too much pride to fall, too weak to stand tall. Is this all that remains when once I reigned? The fault was mine.”

Varric glanced around to see if anyone else heard Cole's lilting speech. He drew enough stares as it was. “You alright there?”

“They needed me,” he said, pulling at his finger with the opposite hand. “I came to help.”

“Oh, well, good. People could use it. Just try not to scare them when you're helping,” the dwarf said.

“Yes. I will try not to do that.”

Varric had the sneaking suspicion he'd be supervising Cole's 'helping' for awhile. Not like he had much else to do while the Inquisition put itself back together. 

Speaking of putting things back together, he was a bit surprised Chuckles came to him first. Varric had been a bit hesitant to approach either of them so soon after they returned. He couldn't catch Senna since she'd been at the mercy of the Inquisition leaders the moment she dismounted the hart. And Solas had kept largely to himself. Whether it was self-punishment or a desire not to get too close to anyone else, Varric wasn't sure. Knowing Solas, it was both. 

So he was a little wary when the elf sat with him in the main hall by the fireplace only three days after his return. He looked a lot better. Well, he wasn't limping at least and his face was starting to fill out, but there was a certain grimness around his eyes. Varric had seen that expression on a couple occasions before but it seemed to have taken permanent residence on his face. 

And Varric wouldn't lie: it sent a weird shiver down his spine to see Solas sitting at a table with him. 

“Feeling any better?” he started.

“Yes. Thank you.” Solas refused his offer of a drink. “I had a question and was hoping you would answer it honestly.”

“No promises, but go ahead.” Varric leaned back and rested his tankard on his stomach. 

“Senna, did she-” His brow furrowed in, looking for the right words. Andraste's ass, Varric knew where this was going. “Did her relationship with the demon progress to intimacy?”

Varric spluttered. “Why do you think _I_ would know that? I'm not her gossip girl.”

“You are an observant man. I'm certain you would have seen the subtle differences,” he said, all calm save the cold intensity in his eyes. 

“Say something did happen, what good does it do you to know? Are you looking for stuff to stay awake at night over?” the dwarf sighed. 

“I simply wished to know the best way to approach her in the future. But you have given me my answer.” The elf stood. 

“I have?” Varric thought he'd been careful enough. 

“I asked her directly and she refused to speak of it. And you will give me nothing either. That is an answer in itself,” he said. 

“Look, don't beat-”

But he was already walking away. Varric sighed. He was definitely beating himself up about it. 

There was nothing Varric could do. Solas wouldn't speak to him, not even about mundane things. In fact he barely spoke to anyone unless necessary. So Varric backed off. Maybe time would help. 

Senna, too, remained out of his reach. He caught her at breakfast the morning of her induction into the role of Inquisitor. He didn't think she would take it but he wouldn't complain about having her leading the Inquisition. Better than Cassandra, at any rate.

“I'm fine,” she'd said at first, but she didn't even try to smile and the bags under her eyes spoke louder than she did.

“My other Dalish friend is a terrible liar too. Is that a thing with your people?”

She sent him a scathing glare. He admitted he flinched but only because he was so used to her taking his jabs in stride. 

“What do you want me to say? That I don't sleep? That I vomit half of what I eat every day? Talking about it won't change anything.” She took a deep breath. “I appreciate the concern, Varric, but there's nothing you can do for me.”

“Yeah, alright,” he mumbled. “If you change your mind, Sunflower, I'm here.”

She swallowed, nodded, and he had nothing left to do but shuffle away with his tail between his legs. He'd give her some time. 

So with that Varric took his place with the people of Skyhold to watch her take up the sword of the Inquisition and pledge herself to its cause. And in the party that followed all he could think about was the hard road ahead of her. 

He'd need to order more notebooks if he was going to write all this shit down.


	2. Stranger We Met

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally!! So sorry for taking forever to update. The holidays were brutal. But I brought a new chapter with new characters and an exciting ending, so I hope you can forgive me <3

Senna found herself enjoying the party despite the weight growing on her shoulders. It was nice to see people happy after all they’d been through. She wasn’t blind. She knew the common person of Haven had suffered, knew some of them never asked for the Inquisition to take residence in their little village. She knew some had died on the way to safety. So to see them enjoying their new home in Skyhold was a relief.

It also didn't escape her notice how the elves were treated. Most were still servants for it was all they knew. But there was a new camaraderie, a lightness in underlying tensions, that helped spur the small hope in her own chest. Whether the lack of slurs and disgusted glances was a result of their trying escape from Haven, the careful machinations of Josephine, or her own rise to the most powerful position in the Inquisition, Senna couldn't say. Perhaps it was all of them. Perhaps it was temporary.

That last thought stilled her. A temporary truce in the wake of disaster? It was a familiar circumstance. While she couldn't control Thedas and how it acted towards her kind, she could decide the tone within Skyhold. She could make it a sanctuary.

“Inquisitor?”

Senna stared out over the hastily cleaned hall, torchlight roaring over people she knew and far more that she did not. All the debris of the run down fortress had either been removed or shoved to one side so a long table could be set up. Senna watched from her place at one end, feeling more an outsider than she had simply being Dalish. Of course she had been on the sidelines of many things since joining the Inquisition. She knew the stares and whispers well. Being the 'Herald of Andraste' also afforded her awed looks, especially if her hand sparked to life at inopportune times. There was something different about this, something more alienating and less tangible than being a stranger in an unfamiliar land.

“Inquisitor?”

A hand touched on Senna's arm. She flinched, fist clenched, mana ready. Oh, but it was only Josephine.

Right. Inquisitor. Her new title. It would take some time before she became used to it.

“I'm sorry. I wasn't paying attention. What did you need?” Senna watched her advisor hide her worry behind a soft smile.

“If you are ready to retire, I thought I might show you to your room,” the Antivan suggested.

Her room? Most were still camped in the courtyard until the rooms were rebuilt enough to house them. She had been given a place in the gatehouse, true, but she knew Skyhold was not ready for living spaces quite yet.

Josephine must have read her confusion, for she said, “A token of thanks for accepting the role of Inquisitor. It’s not finished quite yet. Still, it seems only fitting you have access to your quarters now that the appointment is official.”

Senna nodded and stood to follow her. She gave one final look to the main hall. Solas had not appeared for any of the festivities. It was not a surprise, and she did not begrudge him his absence. Still, a hole fell into her chest when she glanced across shining faces and didn’t see his among them. It would have been nice to see him happy.

There was that feeling again: of otherness, of distance. It wasn’t because she was Dalish or because of the burning mark on her hand. It was the weight of knowing all the people before her expected her to lead them. The realization was strange and sudden. She was tantamount to a Keeper now. Only her clan was full of humans and dwarves, and elves that hardly knew what freedom was. She would never have thought to dream something so outlandish. But she was responsible for them now. She couldn’t pretend otherwise.

Josephine headed to the back of the hall, to the left of the dais where a broken throne languished. They climbed stone steps to a quiet tower and came out onto a landing at the bottom of a set of stairs. At the top was a spacious room, bigger than any Senna had seen, with two balconies and a loft. Josephine stepped into the center first and spun to look at her.

“Well? What do you think?” the ambassador said with far more excitement than Senna thought necessary. It was only a room, after all. “Of course the windows will be repaired and we will find much more suitable furnishings. I was thinking a rug here. Perhaps a chaise. Oh! And of course you will need a desk. But we have the essentials. The bed came in our last shipment, straight from Denerim. It's said King Alistair had his bedding made by the same artisan.”

“Josephine,” Senna said when she took a breath. “I could fit half my clan in here. This seems an awful waste of space when people are still sleeping in tents.”

“Don't worry about that. Everyone is part of the rebuilding effort and I'm certain housing is first on the list. You may not see it now but you will need this room. Now that the Inquisition has a place to stand and someone to lead it, nobles will begin calling to see if we are worth the fuss. They expect the Inquisitor to have rooms that match her title,” Josephine explained.

Senna's nose scrunched at the thought. “They'll want to come to my quarters?”

“Yes, this will be the place where you entertain honored guests. It gives them a sense of importance when not everyone is allowed to the Inquisitor's suite. This is quite a common procedure.”

“Oh.” Senna glanced over the room with new eyes. She still had so much to learn about human customs. “I suppose just let me know ahead of time so I can make sure it’s clean.”

Josephine laughed, a trilling sound meant as enjoyment that made the elf twitch. Seeing the dour expression on her face sobered Josephine again.

“Your quarters will be cleaned and maintained for you. I doubt you will have time to even think of it.” The ambassador smiled once more, softer this time. “I know we have asked much of you, and it is not easy adjusting to a new lifestyle, but we- no, I appreciate that you are willing to try.”

Senna nodded. That was what she needed, really: an acknowledgement of the effort she was already putting forward. “So long as you don't throw me to the nobles with no instruction, I should be fine.”

“Yes, of course! I will begin teaching you everything you need to know as soon as possible. Now, there was only one other matter before I leave you.” She walked to the left side of the fourposter bed and pulled on a golden cord. Senna watched but nothing happened.

“We will have a meeting midday tomorrow to discuss our first move in combating Corypheus. A lot of good information came out of Therinfal, and our agents in the field have much to report,” Josephine said.

Senna jerked to attention when the door creaked open down the stairs. She didn't like that she couldn't see who entered. Perhaps there was a way to fix that. A young elven woman with braided sandy hair rushed up the steps. Her face was flushed as if she just ran all the way up the tower.

“This is Liona.” Josephine motioned for her to come into the room. The girl did so and bowed. Her fingers clenched together. She looked like she was fighting an urge to stare as her gaze kept shooting up at Senna and back down. “She will be your handmaiden.”

“. . . I _can_ still use both my hands,” Senna said with wry disbelief. The mark hadn't taken that kind of toll on her.

“No, no, I mean she will provide you with anything you need, or acquire it for you,” Josephine explained.

“You mean you're giving me a servant?” Senna glowered and watched the poor girl try to make herself as small as possible.

“Think of her more as an assistant. I'm certain you will find her a great asset. In any case, I must return to oversee the rest of the party.” With that, Josephine retreated back down the stairs. Senna could hear the door shut behind her.

“Did you need anything, Your Worship?” Liona asked. She had been summoned, after all.

Senna leaned her weight on one foot. “Please, just call me Senna.”

“Yes, Your – um, My Lady,” she said.

Senna sighed. Well, it was a little better. “They roped you into this?”

“What?” Liona finally looked her in the eye. “No! I am honored, My Lady. To be chosen from all the volunteers-”

“Wait, volunteers?” Senna interrupted.

“Yes, My Lady. A notice was sent out among the serving staff, asking for a volunteer to assist the Inquisitor directly. If you put your name on the list, you had to meet with Lady Josephine and Lady Leliana. So many people wanted to be your servant I was surprised I got – oh! But I'm not supposed to say I'm your servant. Forgive me.” Liona bowed in apology.

Senna wasn't sure whether to be amused or horrified. She settled for massaging a hand against her forehead. At least Liona was here of her own free will. That counted for something.

A curt knock sounded on the door. Senna moved to go down and answer it but Liona rushed to do it first.

“Please, let me,” she said as she made for the stairs. 

Senna stood in the middle of the room, waiting and listening to Liona speak with the person on the other side. She noticed for the first time the impressive quarters had its own bathing area, complete with spigot, in a small side room. The luxuriousness made her strangely uncomfortable.

Liona climbed the stairs again and stood at the top. 

“Healer Edith to see you, ma’am,” she said, pride shining in her eyes at how perfectly she spoke the well practiced line. 

“Okay.” The name sounded familiar but Senna couldn’t place it. The younger elf moved, then stopped, confused at the vague command, and decided to carry on with her original plan. Senna wasn’t sure why Liona insisted on announcing it first. All it meant was an extra trip down the stairs to let the healer in. 

Senna remembered the human when she saw her. Edith was the one that attended her during the battle with Envy. 

“You are a difficult woman to catch, Inquisitor,” she greeted. 

“There is much to do for the people of Skyhold. What can I help you with?” Senna asked.  

“If I may be so bold, Your Worship, I came to help you. At the battle in the garden I was not able to fully heal your wounds and I fear they may have festered,” Edith explained.

“Oh, then there is no need to worry. A surgeon attended to the injuries at Therinfal. Thank you, though.” 

Edith inclined her head in understanding. “. . . My other fear is that you only allowed whoever attended you to do the absolute minimum to keep you going.”

Senna pursed her lips. Maybe not the _absolute_ minimum. “Even so, I have almost completely healed by this point. You needn’t waste your time.”

“I can still reduce the scarring. Please, Your Worship. I would rest easier knowing you have been properly cared for.”

The elf sighed deeply. “It’s Senna.”

“Senna,” Edith corrected herself. “Would you allow me to at least look at it?”

Senna paused to glance at Liona standing patiently at the top of the stairs. She was turned away as if to offer some privacy, though she knew with those ears the girl could hear every word and sound. Was that protocol? To act as if if she wasn’t there despite the obvious evidence of her presence? But Senna was getting distracted. Edith needed an answer. 

“Fine.” She began to undo the buttons of her shirt. The human glanced over the room, presumably for a place for them to sit, but saw only the lavish bed. 

When Senna finished removing her clothes and stood in only her breeches and foot wraps, Edith examined the gnarled flesh of her side with a disappointed tsk - as healers usually did. 

“You, girl,” Edith said.

“Liona,” Senna snapped. She didn’t miss the elation in the young elf’s eyes. 

“Liona. Draw a bath for the Inquisitor, would you?” Edith said. Liona jumped to do as asked even as Senna leveled a dim glare at the healer.

“You said you wanted to see that the wounds were taken care of. I don’t have time to waste on a bath.”

“With all due respect, Inquisitor, you certainly do have time tonight. There is nothing pressing at hand for Skyhold, correct? You can spare an hour to care for your own body,” Edith said as she pulled her satchel over her head and laid it by the four poster. “The bath is necessary to remove any old skin and make sure it’s clean so there will be no infections.”

Senna glowered but she had already agreed, so with some reluctance she finished undressing and stepped into the bathing room when Liona was finished. The elven girl rushed back to her post at the top of the stairs. 

The large wooden basin had a fire rune attached to the side. Steam was already rising from the top of the water and Senna couldn’t deny the shudder of delight that passed over her as she sank into the hot bath. 

Edith shook off her robe and shoved the sleeves of her tunic up her elbows. 

“I can bathe myself,” Senna said.

“Please, Inquisitor,” the human said as if dealing with a petulant child. So Senna sat in silence while the warm steam soothed her muscles and cleared her head. As her skin began to prune Edith scrubbed a harsh rag over her back and side. Senna glared at the side of the tub in front of her. 

“Do you do this with all your patients, healer?” she asked as the constant rub made her skin raw and sensitive. 

“No, because I don’t usually have to. Most of them aren’t daft enough to run away with half open wounds. And I see the Surgeon had no more luck than I in keeping you still.”

Senna snorted. “It wasn’t going to kill me and there was someone in greater need of assistance.”

“It might have.” She sighed. “Nevermind. I’m finished here. You can bathe properly now if you like. I’ll be in the main room.”

Senna settled deeper into the pool as Edith left, watching the water slosh against the rim at her added weight. She was loathe to admit how good the heat felt, how sore her muscles were. She shouldn’t be wasting her time with this luxury, especially when so many were still camped outside just under her tower.

Her tower. Strange. Was this what it felt like to be the leader among humans? It was so different from being First, or even a Keeper. There was of course a feast when a mage came into those positions, but it was always done carefully, with attention to the season and their stock of rations. Here there was excess, from the food at table during the party to her tower rooms. If only she could send a morsel of it back to her clan. 

Her clan. They still didn’t know. No doubt even Lavellan had heard of the Breach closing by now. The relief across borders and races would keep the news on every tongue. They would expect her home, or at least those who cared to see her back. There were still some who would not mourn her absence. Still, she wouldn’t be going back soon or, she realized, for a long time yet. She had given herself over to this station and her only hope was that it would pay off for her people as well as elves all across Thedas. 

_You could be the start of great change._

Senna closed her eyes and tried to remember their faces. Hasas and Orana, Tanis, Deshanna’s wispy golden hair and wise wrinkles. And Elris, his hair always so long, dark as night, eyes shining like stars, with an easy smile on his lips. 

Red flashed in her mind’s eye. She felt the weight of his heart in her hand as if it were real. Her fingers clenched around her arms, nails digging into flesh to remember herself. The cries of her clan as she slaughtered them echoed in her ears. 

Senna sucked in a deep breath and dunked her head under the water. It wasn’t real. She hadn’t hurt anyone. It was just one of Envy’s tricks. 

She came back up and pushed choppy red hair out of her eyes. She should bathe. She hadn’t been clean, really clean, in weeks. Senna grabbed the plain soap and rubbed it on her skin and hair until she finally felt decent.

Edith and Liona were chatting in hushed voices while she was in the bath, but Liona must have been listening because as soon as Senna stepped out she was at the door holding a towel and fresh clothes with a fair amount of enthusiasm.

“Oh, thank you,” Senna said as she took the towel and began drying off. 

“Yes, My Lady,” Liona responded immediately. Senna’s brow lifted but she said nothing. 

She decided not to put her new tunic on yet since Edith still wanted to poke at her scars. The healer beckoned her to sit on the bed and applied a salve to her back and side. 

“Can I ask a favor of you, Edith?” Senna said as the human cast an unfamiliar rejuvenation spell that made her skin tingle in small pricks.

“Anything, Your Worship.”

Senna opened her mouth to correct her, gave up, and continued, “The elven man that returned with me to Skyhold, Solas. He was injured as well. Could you see to him and make sure he is healing properly?”

“Of course, Senna,” Edith said. 

Senna looked back to see a minuscule smile on her lips. She frowned but since she wasn’t sure what the smile meant, didn’t say anything in return other than a short thanks. 

“That should reduce scarring and keep you from damaging the skin any further. Thank you for allowing me to do this, Inquisitor. Sleep well.” Edith packed the salve in her satchel and disappeared down the stairs, leaving the room smelling strongly of embrium and earth. 

“Will you retire, My Lady?” Liona asked when they were alone. Senna pulled the loose cream shirt over her head and looked at the too large bed waiting for her. 

She was tired, yes, but she was also too afraid of sleep to admit her weariness. No. It wasn’t sleep she feared. It was the Fade.

“I suppose. Thank you, Liona. It’s good to meet you.”

Liona grinned as wide as her heart-shaped face would allow, then shot to the bedside to turn down the blankets and adjust the pillows. 

Senna frowned. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Oh, of course, My Lady. I’ll leave you to rest, then.” Liona retreated and gave a small bow before rushing down the stairs. Senna heard the heavy door close behind her. 

The silence was immediate and stifling. 

She extinguished the lights in the room, leaving the fire in the hearth to burn itself down. And, with nothing left to do until morning, she crawled into bed. 

Senna laid there for some time. She felt as if half the night passed while she stared at the roof of the bed (why would a bed even need a roof?), wondering if she might sink into the uncomfortably soft mattress and never be able to get out. 

The other half of her thoughts were in images she fought back with fervor. Pictures of things real and imagined, things she saw or feared she would see, and, in the deepest part of night she stumbled to the balcony doors and flung herself into the cold southern air for a reprieve. There, she shook while the sharp breeze grounded her, only feeling the sweat when it cooled on her brow. She braced her hands on the icy stone railing as she took concentrated breaths to soothe her roiling stomach, all the while reminding herself she'd already lost one meal that day. True, she hadn't eaten much since – her appetite at the celebration was negligible, bordering repulsed – but she would rather what she did have stay inside. Eventually the nausea ebbed and she was able to stand straight. 

She would not sleep.

Senna needed a distraction. She left the tower, down the long stairs to the main hall. It was dark now save the moonlight through the large stained window. Her bare feet made no sound on the stone. 

Her one hope was that she would not have to raid a tent for the materials she needed. While she knew it would be easily forgiven, what with her new title, she did not want to cause the fuss to begin with. 

On the second floor of the rotunda, amid the dust and old cobwebs, a growing area was being cleaned up and used for study. There was a table and writing implements waiting to be used. She sat, lit the candle with a muted spell, and penned a letter for Deshanna. Her Keeper would be upset, of course, but Senna hoped she would understand her duty. 

And it was too late for her to turn back now.

She returned to her chambers and slept a restless couple of hours, rising with the first of the sun when she could not stand to be in bed any longer. There was a great deal of time before the meeting so she took a small breakfast, then gave her letter to a messenger to be sent out. She wiled away the rest of her time offering her assistance to anyone that would take it, whether it be cooking, building, or handling the stables. Most turned her away with reverence on their brows, but some accepted her help gratefully. It kept her occupied, at least. 

Only a few hours into the day Edith came looking for her in the stables. 

“I'm a bit busy at the moment, healer,” Senna said as she shoveled hay into one of the stalls. 

Edith nodded from the corner of her eye. “I didn't come to take you away from your work, only to tell you I went to see the man Solas and he refused my offer to look over his wounds. I thought you might like to know.”

“He would,” Senna snorted. “Alright, thank you, Edith. I'll see to him myself.”

Edith gave her a bemused sort of smile and left. Senna wiped her brow, set aside her pitchfork, and informed Dennett that she was needed elsewhere. He nodded and waved her off. 

After a small bit of searching, she found Solas in the rotunda. He was the only one in the empty bottom floor and he seemed to be studying the wall with great intent.

Senna stopped in the doorway, a sharp trill running up her spine at the sight of him. She took a deep breath, stilled her mind, and approached.

“I'm no architect but I'd say the wall will hold,” she greeted with false cheeriness.

He looked over his shoulder, the smile on his lips brief and unconvincing. “Yes, I agree. Though that is not why I have taken an interest in it.” He faced her fully, hands behind his back. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Inquisitor?”

Her fingers spasmed, clenched. “I came to see how you were doing. You didn't have much of a chance to recover on the road.”

“Ah. There is no need to concern yourself. And I would advise against sending any more healers. They have enough work as it is,” he said. 

The tips of her ears flushed. “Still, you are important – to the Inquisition. We would be remiss in not caring for one of our own, especially one who has given so much already.”

“You are too kind, Inquisitor,” Solas said with a short bow of his head. “Yet I must insist. I am an experienced enough healer to care for myself, and you no longer have the luxury of wasting time on an apostate.”

Senna wanted words but they stuck in her lungs. She searched his eyes, looking for something, some warmth, some echo of their easy camraderie, but found only stone. And it was not the hasty barrier he set between them when he felt too vulnerable. It was far older, thicker, a fortress built over the bones of many ramparts time and time again until it became unpenetrable. 

“Apologies,” she said, far quieter than she intended. “I will leave you to your wall.” 

She did not move right away, and as if from afar she heard the door of the rotunda pull open. When Senna turned from Solas she saw Vivienne come sweeping into the circular room. Two templars were at her heel. She instantly bristled, not liking the air they carried with them. 

“Oh, Senna, I did not expect you here,” Vivienne said. Her shoulders straightened. 

Senna shuffled to block Solas from easy access. One of the templars laid a hand on his pomel. Mana crackled like an electric current in the space between them. 

The Enchanter was up to no good.


	3. Many Meetings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ack, sorry I've been absent. I meant to do this chapter last month but there was a lot going on :/ Anyway, I hope you enjoy and thank you so much to all my commenters! Your investment in the story give me life :D

In that moment of shrill silence, Senna decided she would not fight the templars. Not that she couldn’t. She was fairly certain with her training that she could best two of them even without help from Solas. No, she chose not to start a civil war within the barely rebuilt walls of their new home. The templars far outnumbered the mages of Skyhold. And beyond that there was the grim reminder that, despite her new title, it would take only one misstep as a mage herself for the people to turn. Far easier than a mistake as an elf, at any rate. 

Vivienne, she would battle if it came to it. They would be in tight quarters here in the rotunda. Without her staff, Senna found it an advantage, and she knew Vivienne preferred close combat. They knew each other’s styles and weaknesses well by now. Senna could not assure her own victory - however loathe she was to think of battling a comrade - but she would allow her own throat cut by the Enchanter’s blade before she saw Solas suffer one more moment of pain because of her, because of Envy.

“Is there something I can help you with?” Senna broached, arms relaxed while her mana pulled taut as a sling ready to release its stone. Solas remained eerily silent behind her. She could not even feel his magic. Vivienne, however, had drawn on hers just as strongly as Senna had.

“Not you, dear. I came to speak with Solas,” Vivienne said.

“What conversation requires templars in attendance?” she snarled, patience fraying at the first word from the other woman’s mouth. 

“One must take precautions when dealing with a susceptible mage, especially when telling him something he would not like to hear.” One of the templars shifted, perhaps questioning their odds with an extra mage in the room. 

“The Circles are disbanded, Enchanter,” Solas said behind her, voice even and trembling with control. “Unless you have a worse prison prepared.”

“The organization is gone, yes, but some towers remain to house those that did not wish to leave. . . . and those too much a danger to themselves and others,” Vivienne countered.

“Solas is not dangerous,” Senna said.

The Enchanter’s gaze cut to her. “Perhaps your memory betrays you, my dear, but I saw a powerful demon rip you nearly in half and kill six of our soldiers. I hope the wound did not scar terribly.”

“That was not Solas-”

“But he allowed it access.”

“I will not submit to this - this charade,” Solas spat, stepping forward. Senna moved fast, stopping his progress and keeping herself between the two mages. He took a shaky breath and continued. “I do not ask for your trust, Enchanter, for I have not earned it by my stumbling. You are correct. The fault was mine.”

No, it wasn’t his fault he’d been mercilessly tortured, broken, and left to die for weeks in a crypt. “Solas-” 

“Hush.” The simple word held enough force to keep her. Solas looked to Vivienne. “I failed the Inquisitor but that is my own affair. If you attempt to remove me from Skyhold simply by your fear, I will fight to the last.”

“That is not going to happen,” Senna declared.

“Inquisitor, I have said nothing of your choice to harbor an apostate. Yet you would willingly risk the safety of this organization, the lives of the people, for someone susceptible to becoming an abomination by virtue of your shared blood. I cannot abide it,” Vivienne said. 

“Then you may leave,” Senna growled, fingers curling. “I do not vouch for Solas because he is an elf, but because he has given a great deal to see the Breach closed, and it is an insult to suggest otherwise. I would have done the same for you.”

“I should hope not.” 

Solas scoffed quietly. Senna pulled herself up to her full height and looked at each of the three across from her. “As the Inquisitor I do not condone removing _anyone_ by force from Skyhold. You may fight me or you may leave; permanently if my decision is so unappealing. Templars, you are free to file a complaint with Commander Cullen. I will not be swayed.”

Vivienne did not turn her eyes from Senna even as her skittish templar looked to her for direction. 

The other, more steadfast one saluted Senna with a fist on his chest. “My lady.”

He left swiftly through the door to the main hall. It shattered the tension and Vivienne, seeing her plan foiled with only one templar, allowed her mana to dissipate and waved the younger templar away. With a quick salute, he made a hasty retreat. 

Senna breathed deep and let the magic slide down off her skin and back to the Fade. “I warn you now: try this again and I will see to it that Josephine destroys even the smallest grain of influence you have in Orlais.”

The Enchanter gave a small bow. “You could play the Game well Senna, if you were not so foolhardy. I still do not think this wise, and Solas, dear, if you do become an abomination I will be the first to strike you down.”

“You are welcome to,” Solas said, a hint of amusement only Senna noticed on his voice. Vivienne swept out of the room with a scowl. 

It was far too quiet when they were alone. In truth, the confrontation took less time than it felt. Senna assumed the Enchanter’s original intention was to steal Solas away while the tower was still empty. There was a scuff of boots against stone as some of the staff entered the now open door to mount the steps to the library. Senna wondered if their conversation was overheard by anyone. 

“You do not fear the possibility of my becoming an abomination?” Solas asked softly after a long silence. 

Senna turned her attention to him. “The Dalish know what the humans refuse to consider: that an abomination can be saved if enough effort is put forth. Besides, I fought Envy too and if it weren’t for Cole I would have been overtaken. It did not feel like an ordinary demon.”

“What if I could not be saved?” he asked with a tilt of his head, eyes guarded.

“I won’t abandon you, Solas,” she said. How quick he was to think she might shrink away.

“That does not answer my question.”

“I . . .” Senna stopped to think. What would she do if she had no other option, if she had tried everything and the demon was still too strong for both of them? “I wouldn’t know until the moment came.”

His lip twitched down - displeased, perhaps, at the lack of an answer - and his mouth opened but he seemed to think better of it and closed it again. Then, he nodded. “Thank you, Inquisitor.” 

He had not called her by name since they came to Skyhold. Senna hid the sting under a weak smile. “If you need me to fend off any more disgruntled women, let me know.”

“I would not bother you further. The assistance is appreciated but not necessary,” he said, the wall sliding back in place between them. 

“Solas, I-” hate to see you hurting like this. I need to know you’re safe because I close my eyes and see you in that cage, see you broken, and I can’t bear the weight of my blame.

But she said none of those things. It had become too difficult to look him in the eye, to admit her betrayal of his confidence. At night alone in bed she would; when there was nothing left to distract her from the memory of her dream with the Wolf. Knowing that she witnessed his suffering first hand, knowing it could have been avoided if she had only payed more attention and listened to her gut feeling. The press of guilt had woken her from uneasy slumber more than once. 

“I stand by my word,” she croaked when she found her tongue. “I will not allow the humans to use your kindness against you, so long as I live to stop them.” 

“You . . . I would advise against offering up your life so quickly. The people need you,” he said.

“Are you not among them?” she challenged. 

Before he could answer, a new voice chimed above the murmur of the tower: “Oh, My Lady.”

Senna glanced at Liona as she approached. Solas inclined his head and with a brief “Excuse me” strode out to the main hall. There was no longer any limp to his step.

“Your counsel is prepared to begin the meeting,” Liona announced as Senna watched her former friend retreat. 

“Thank you, Liona. I’m sure Josephine is anxious to get underway,” she said with a short smile. Liona led the way out of the rotunda. 

Senna crossed the hall feeling drained and empty, knowing she needed to keep her mind together for her advisors. It wouldn’t do for the Inquisitor to lose focus in her first real meeting at the head of the proceedings.

Liona left her at the entrance to the war room, and Cullen’s laughter was the first thing she heard when she pushed open the heavy wooden door. 

“Ah, Senna, come join us,” Josephine greeted with a warm smile. The elf was surprised to see her seated on the sturdy old table, her legs swinging lightly as they dangled over the floor. Leliana was leaning next to her, arms crossed, a hidden grin on her lips. Cullen was seated in one of the tall chairs in front of the spymaster, relaxed under all his stiff armor. Senna still saw the dark shadows of sleeplessness on his pale face. 

There were only a handful of times Senna could recall them being relaxed in the war room at Haven. Despite the common gossip about the nature of their talks, sometimes the real meeting was rather short and the rest of their time was spent in exchanging stories or using an excuse to be away from their normal duties. They needed it, she was sure, and Senna appreciated the opportunity to be involved and get to know them. How important it seemed now that they were here in Skyhold, with what felt like a new organization and her their new leader. 

“Did I miss anything?” Senna asked. She looked at one of the chairs but decided against sitting down. She couldn’t be sure she’d stay awake if she let her body rest. She only hoped the others wouldn’t notice the subtle shivers along her skin. Though the confrontation with Vivienne hadn’t ended in battle, she had still expended energy pulling her mana into tight readiness. Energy she frankly did not have. 

“Only Leliana’s sordid tales of Chantry mischief,” Cullen said, dragging on Senna’s waning attention.

“Sordid, Commander? It was all quite harmless,” Leliana responded. But there was a smirk on the edge of her mouth that spoke otherwise. 

“Ha! I hope you told that to the sister tasked with cleaning the blood off the walls.”

At Senna’s look, Leliana amended with, “Pig’s blood.”

Josephine cleared her throat before the story could be retold. “Shall we get started?”

“Of course.”

“How are the reconstruction efforts coming along?” Senna said first. 

“Well enough,” Cullen answered, standing to lean over the table across from her as Josephine slid off it. “The servants quarters and east wing are liveable, though there are still some gaps in the walls. It’s becoming rather expensive to bring in the stone we need, especially since the roads are still difficult to traverse. I have some of our volunteer recruits smoothing the paths but it will take them some time.”

“Do we not have a quarry in the area?” she asked. 

“None as of yet. We have scouts out marking the terrain and useable resources. They should be ready to report within the week,” Leliana added.

Senna licked her parched lips. “Josephine, could you barter with some of the merchants in Redcliff? Offer them space to sell their wares in Skyhold in exchange for whatever materials we’re short on.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” the antivan said with a smile, making a note on her half filled slip of parchment. A cold wind whistled through the large hole in one corner of the room, ruffling papers and threatening to tip over Josephine’s inkwell. 

Leliana’s brow arched at the unforseen problem of their new meeting area. “Perhaps we can have someone board that up.” 

“Yes, the winds are stronger here even than Haven,” Josephine sighed. “If only we had a little Antivan sunshine to go with it.”

Normally, Senna would have been quick to agree with her. She and Josephine had bonded over their mutual distaste for Ferelden weather. However, the air soothed the sweat on her brow and along her neck. Senna closed her eyes, felt the world sway in her moment of reprieve, and quickly snapped them open again, grabbing the edge of the table for balance. No, she needed to focus, to ignore the shakes and the yawning chasm in her stomach - the damn thing roiled and spat back anything more than a few bites worth so she’d left it empty.

“Before we begin with the proceedings,” Josephine said as she got all her papers back in order, “I was reminded this morning by my aide that we had Dalish visitors while you were at Therinfal. It slipped my mind with all the reconstruction and the coronation.”

“Visitors?” Senna blinked, partly to keep her vision straight and partly to convey her confusion. 

“Yes, a Clan Varmel. Their First said their presence was requested. They also brought a tree with them?” Josephine seemed confused by that last line of her notes.

“Ah, right. The Vallasdahlen. I did ask them to bring it. Are they still in Skyhold?”

“No, they left as soon as they knew you weren’t here. We offered for them to stay but they would not.”

Senna nodded. It was not unexpected. Lavellan was more open to humans than many other clans, mostly because of their agreements with Wycome, and she was not surprised to find the members of Varmel hesitant to remain in Skyhold. No doubt they were wary of the abundance of humans and the lack of even a single Dalish. “Would you contact them again? See if they’d be willing to return. It’s important that I have that tree.”

“Of course, Inquisitor.”

Senna twitched at the title but said nothing.

Cullen cleared his throat. “We have a full report from Barris about the disappearance of the Lord Seeker.”

As he went over the findings, how the Seeker was connected to Envy and Envy to Corypheus, Senna felt a flush creep up her neck and over her cheeks. She prayed for another blast of air from the hole in the wall to cool her skin, but it was some time before one graced her slick flesh. By then the warmth had turned to a heat with a heartbeat and the shiver had become a full shudder that seized her legs and arms. How she managed to keep up with Cullen’s report was a miracle. His voice would fade in and out of hearing as she tried to concentrate her vision to make sure it didn’t leave her as well. 

“We have attempted to contact Celene to warn her, but the agent I sent has not reported back,” Leliana added. “It is too early to tell if they have been intercepted. We cannot rule out the possibility.”

Senna nodded. She licked her dry lips again. “Josephine, why would they wait for this Ball to try to assassinate her?”

“Orlesian tradition, perhaps. If they play the Grand Game, they would know to strike Celene at her own party. Assassinations are not a quiet affair in Orlais. They must be conducted with flair and more than a little theatricality. If our assassin is Orlesian, they will wait for the right opportunity,” the ambassador explained. 

“Which is most likely,” Leliana said. “Celene would not let anyone unfamiliar too close, not with Gaspard vying for the throne.”

“Gaspard would sooner challenge her to a duel than send an assassin,” Cullen scoffed. 

“It doesn’t really matter at this point,” Senna said. She swallowed to get some traction in her dry throat. “We either need to get through to Celene or go to this party to stop the assassin ourselves. There’s really no way to find out who it is with so little to go on.”

“I agree,” Leliana said.

“As do I. We should begin preparations immediately,” Josephine said, scribbling feverish new notes.

“But it’s not for four months,” Senna said. Cullen chuckled and she had a sudden sinking feeling.

“You will have to learn the court if we are to keep suspicion low at the Ball,” Leliana explained with a smirk. 

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure Josephine will drill every noble’s name and family history into your head long before the date.” Cullen grinned.

Senna glared, then relented with a sigh. “Fine, as long as it’s necessary.”

“If we are to be taken seriously, the court must be convinced of our ability to play the Game. Especially the Inquisitor,” Josephine said with a surprising amount of fervency.

“Speaking of training, have you considered branching out into new disciplines?” Cullen suggested. 

“What do you mean?” Senna asked. Her head was finally clearing. It seemed the episode had passed.

The man shrugged. “In the Circles, mages had access to several different disciplines of magic. As I understand it, you know the basics but little more. We have the resources and enough influence to find you a good teacher. If you wish it.”

Senna thought of her training with Solas and how quickly she advanced. It was probably best not to bother him with it a second time. 

“I will look into it.”

Not long after, as they were discussing some of the more minor points of housekeeping in Skyhold, there was a knock at the door. Josephine called them in, and two servants brought a large pitcher of water, a loaf of bread, and a small pot of stew. There was a short break in the conversation as Cullen dispersed the bowls of food and Josephine made sure they had drinks. 

Senna was more than happy to have something to eat. Yet after four spoonfuls her stomach gurgled angrily, her throat closed up, and she could hardly look at the once appealing stew without gagging. 

The rest of the meeting was a return to routine, though Senna now had far more say in their decisions than previously. 

“Did you not like the stew?” Josephine asked long after it had gone cold. They were all but finished with everything they set out to discuss. “I could call for something else.”

“No, it was fine. I just wasn’t very hungry,” she lied. Leliana looked but said nothing, and Cullen did not even give her a glance. Senna clenched her teeth. So they knew. 

“If you’re certain,” Josephine said reluctantly. Senna nodded.

“There was one other matter,” Leliana said before they could disperse. She paused, almost uncertain, then looked to Senna. “There are whispers, mostly among the templars, about Solas. They think him susceptible to possession. What do you advise?” 

Senna resisted the snarl on her lip and turned her sharp gaze to Cullen. “Do you find him a threat?”

“I did,” he answered honestly. “When you left to retrieve him I feared the trauma would make him an easy target to lesser demons. But I did receive a very in depth report from Barris, including the state Solas was in when you first found him. He weathered a great deal. If he did not submit during his recovery, I don’t believe he would now.”

She nodded. “Thank you. The templars needn’t trust a mage, but they should have faith in the decisions of their commander. Draw their attention to that fact. The rumors won’t disappear completely but that should help alleviate some of them. The rest will go away with time.”

Cullen inclined his head. “As you say, Inquisitor.”

“If we are finished, I would ask you to accompany me to the library, Senna,” Josephine said.

“Of course.” 

They adjourned, Cullen and Leliana returning to their normal duties, as Senna returned to the rotunda with Josephine. She peeked in on the way up the stairs, but Solas was not in the bottom room. It was silly to think he would have been. 

“Inquisitor,” Dorian greeted as they came into the second floor. The bookshelfs had been cleaned up since the last time she was there. The dust was gone and it seemed there were several new rows of books in the empty spaces. 

Senna nodded. “Are you our librarian now?” 

“I might as well be.” He chuckled. “There was no catalogue set up by the previous inhabitants and you can thank yours truly for rectifying that. Though I did find some fascinating older texts. Mostly about nug breeding, if you can imagine it. There were some boring Chantry depositions and a couple of atrocious books on magical theory that no one would find useful along with them. I’ve been told we’re keeping them anyway.”

“As interesting as that sounds, we came for whatever we have available on Orlesian politics,” Josephine said with a polite smile. 

Dorian led them to the correct shelf and, as Josephine looked over the spines, turned to Senna.

“Are you well, Inquisitor? I don’t believe you’ve stopped since your return.”

“Well enough,” she said.

“You don’t look it.”

Senna snorted and a small smile tugged at her lip. She could appreciate his honesty. “Thanks.”

“I don’t mean to pry-”

“Then don’t.” 

Dorian hid the jab he must have felt, his mustache twitching as he gave her a half smile instead. “Fair enough. I walked into that one.” 

“Is this all we have?” Josephine asked, four books already tucked into the crook of her arm.

“Afraid so. If you’d like anything ordered, you’ll have to speak with Helena. Supposedly, she’s in charge of the library,” Dorian said. 

In the end, Josephine passed the books to Senna with a disappointed tsk. She was instructed to read them until they received some better materials from Orlais. 

Senna spent the rest of the afternoon in her tower, trying to care about Orlesian lines of succession and estate management. She must have fallen asleep somewhere in the second chapter, for the next thing she knew Liona was tapping her shoulder to offer her dinner. 

This time she managed six bites at the side table they’d brought up earlier that morning. And when she gave in to the exhaustion, she was able to close her eyes the moment she laid in the overly soft four poster. 

She could never tell how the dreams would start. Sometimes with Solas, sometimes with Envy, and others with her mother or Elris. They usually ended the same - in blood. Worse still were the ones that coalesced into Envy pinning her down, biting deep into her shoulder, and shoving itself between her legs. 

This one started in the garden, a replay of the battle. She ran. She never saw it but she ran, knowing it was behind her. Past Skyhold, past Haven and the lake, past laughing people, and somehow still in the garden until finally it caught her. Long fingers ripped into her throat as the bulbous excuse for a face screeched at her for hours, one long continuous note ringing through her until she cried. She laid there as its claws shred her skin, gutting her until her legs fell from her body and -

She woke up.

Senna panted, ears ringing with the memory of the shriek. She passed a hand over her eyes and stopped to stare at the mark glowing softly in the darkness. The damned thing. She’d rather be rid of it. 

But the dream reminded her of that battle and the way the anchor pulled Envy into some kind of rift. For a moment she had control over it. If she did it once she should be able to hone it as a technique. Maybe that would give her some comfort, especially from the thought of demons leeching power from it. Besides, there wasn’t much else to do now and she was awake whether she liked it or not.

Senna stood, bare feet on cold stone, and pressed her left arm into the silent black of night. At first she tried to push her mana into the slit in her hand but it only resulted in an angry crackle and a sharp slice of pain through her bones to her elbow. 

Well that didn’t work.

What had she done differently? She tried to recall the moment, as fleeting and jumbled as it was, and could only think of the anger and frustration. 

Senna frowned and let her arm drop. Either way, her quarters weren’t the best place to practice opening rifts in the Fade. She dressed, took up her staff, and headed down to the main hall, out to the courtyard, and past the gates of Skyhold. If she did open a rift and a demon or two came out of it, she would prefer it happen away from the people that were counting on her. 

She passed a guard at the bridge who let her by with a salute, no questions asked. On the other side she took the path for only a few paces, then turned off it to a flat piece of land in the slope of the mountainside. It was as good a place as any. 

She tried again, now with her staff to channel the energy. The backlash was more painful the second time. She hissed and shook out her hand. Senna knew she was doing something wrong but she didn’t know what. She’d been feeling so much during the battle with Envy she didn’t even think of keeping track of how she did what she did with the mark. 

Maybe the emotion was part of it. The catalyst, perhaps. At the moment she only felt tired, and she wasn’t sure she could fabricate any feeling well enough for the mark to react, but it was worth trying.

She tried to remember the fury in that moment, tried to feel it rushing in her blood and bursting through her heart. There was disgust too, the same as she felt when she woke every morning. That was easier to replicate. 

The anchor sparked. She felt the air pull and warp, the Fade pressing as if to escape its confines. It was not enough. As suddenly as it started, the moment passed. 

Senna took a deep breath and tried another time. Again the mark spluttered and the Fade pulled on her. Again, it dissipated. 

She wasn’t sure how many times she tried it before he appeared. The footsteps behind her were soft, almost silent even to her sensitive ears. Senna turned, staff at the ready with fire blazing at the tip. Solas stopped short. 

She breathed, though a small voice told her not to trust that it was really him. “What are you doing out here?”

“I could ask the same. There were strange fluctuations nearby as I wandered the Fade. I could not determine the origin and came to see it in the waking world,” he explained. 

She nodded. “I was playing with the mark, seeing if I could control it.”

“You have had some success.” His brow quirked as he leaned more weight on his staff.

She snorted. “Not much. Just ripples.”

“And what did you plan to do if you created a rift? Out alone in the middle of the night. No doubt you told no one what you were doing. All rifts attract spirits. The ones you create would be no different,” he said. 

“I can take care of a few rage demons,” Senna said, more confused than upset by his worry. 

“You do not know they would be lesser demons.” He huffed a breath. “If it does not distract you, I would prefer to stay.”

“. . . Sure.” 

He turned and sat a few paces from her, placing his staff across his lap. He let her work in silence for some time, simply observing, until he felt he had a suggestion to offer. Senna kept most of her focus on her task, though she was careful to maintain a watchful eye on her companion. 

She was not able to convince herself the real Solas sat beside her.


	4. Rumors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well this has been a long time coming but it's a long chapter so there you go! I hope you guys enjoy the different perspective and OC love ;3

Liona had never met a holy woman before. She met a Sister in a Chantry back in Denerim once. And she’d heard the Divine was holy. She wasn’t sure if the Divine was touched by Andraste but everyone said the Herald had been. Some said she glowed.

There were other less benevolent whispers too. Liona heard them all. First on the farm in the Hinterlands where she found work after her master’s family died at the conclave, then in Skyhold when she escaped at the rumor of better treatment for elves under the Inquisition banner. Many of the humans complained. How could they say Andraste sent an elf? And not just an elf, a wild Dalish that wouldn’t know the Maker from a bath. 

Liona had never met a Dalish before. She heard they painted blood on their faces and only spoke in the old language of their ancestors. Some of her friends spoke of them in fear and awe, but to her the stories spoke of a better life. Was that the way it should be for all elves, the way the Dalish lived? She had been curious about it for some time, and hoped meeting the blessed Herald would give her an answer. She hoped she would be able to tell her what Andraste thought of their kind.

She bounced on the balls of her feet as Lady Josephine left her to wait in the servant quarters until she was called. 

There was an intricate mechanism that ran from the Inquisitor’s tower down through to the servant quarters. Liona was given her own bed in the corner where the bell at the end of the long cord rested. When the Inquisitor pulled on the rope beside her bed, the bell would ring and Liona would be tasked with rushing down the main hall and up the long stairs to call on her master. Well, not really her master. Her Lady? No, no, that didn’t sound right. Her . . . well, it didn’t matter what the holy Herald was to her, what mattered was that she would try to be the best servant the woman ever had.

Finally the bell rang, light and airy, and Liona dashed from the room, cut through the remnants of the celebration in the main hall - she hadn’t even been required to serve at the banquet - and straight to the door leading up to the tower. It was a longer walk than she was used to, and the stairs burned her calves by the time she reached the top, but she was too frightened of taking a long time to slow down. At the end of the stairs she was hot and almost panting, but she felt she’d responded quickly, all things considered. 

The Herald didn’t glow. She looked tired too, with darkness rimmed under her eyes. The tattoos on her face were not made with blood, but with violet ink that seemed to shine in certain light. They were even more eerie and beautiful than she thought they’d be. 

All in all, the Herald didn’t look holy. She looked almost normal. She was small, too, like she didn’t get enough to eat. Liona might have been able to mistake her for a city elf under different circumstances. Wait, no, she did not slump the way an alienage dweller would. Her back was straight, shoulders set, a clear fire in her bright green eyes. So that was the look of a Dalish. Wow.

It was kind of . . . strange to see one of her own people in charge of the humans. Almost backwards, in a way. Were it not for her awe at that, she might have felt the disappointment at her lack of godliness more strongly. 

Liona allowed herself only a moment to observe her new charge. She stepped forward when she was instructed to, a shudder of excitement on her skin. Josephine introduced her and she bowed. 

“You’re giving me a servant?” were the Herald’s first words in her direction. Liona sucked in a breath, shrank back, and prepared for the blow. She’d heard that tone of voice too many times not to know what came next. It never came. Instead, Josephine easily soothed the Inquisitor. She was still disgruntled when the ambassador left but said nothing. 

Senna - ah, it was strange to say her name, even to herself - did not like her title, or any title Liona wanted to call her by. But Liona couldn’t bring herself to use only her name. It felt too odd, too close. She seemed least upset by ‘Lady’ and accepted that Liona wouldn’t use anything less. 

Still, it was an odd arrangement. Senna must not have been used to having someone wait on her, because she never called Liona up to her room. Liona started to feel guilty for how easy her work was. She would rise early - well, she thought it was early - and find the Inquisitor already up and usually out for the day. She learned to stop bringing breakfast up, as it often went to waste. She would make the bed and clean what little there was to clean, then wander back down to the main hall. Sometimes she would run a message to Senna, but most times she was left with nothing to do but wait for Senna to need her. 

She slept little and ate even less. Liona wasn’t sure why. If she had access to any food she wanted, why, there wouldn’t be a morsel left on her plate. But for Senna eating seemed a chore. There were times Liona collected the remaining portion of her dinner and had to examine it to make sure she’d actually eaten anything. She wished she would eat more. Her health seemed to be getting worse every day. 

Liona had heard whispers of the battle in the gardens. She’d passed by more than one soldier retelling the story of how the Inquisitor felled a frightening demon, more ferocious than any they’d seen. And how the mage that let it in still resided in Skyhold. Liona wondered if the mage’s presence had anything to do with Senna’s health, and if it was, why anyone would let such a terrible person stay. 

She didn’t know much about mages. The Herald was one of them but she didn’t look like it. At least, she didn’t look like she would curse someone or call down lightning at a moment’s notice. There was one instance where Liona woke her - she’d fallen asleep at the side table again - and Senna was so startled she jumped. Liona thought she felt it then, a hum in the room that prickled her hairs and shot a knot of fear into her stomach. It passed almost instantly. That was the only time she could say she was afraid of Senna. 

That wasn’t entirely true. She was scared of her. It wasn’t the kind of fear that a servant has for a master, though. It was in the words that caught in her throat when she wanted so desperately to say something. She had so many questions. Like where did Senna learn to read, and can a mage really sneeze fire, and what does a Dalish house look like and, most importantly, did she really meet Andraste in the Fade? But every time she thought she had the courage to ask, her throat would seal itself and she’d feel such a fool for thinking of wasting the Inquisitor’s precious time. She already had so much else to worry about. 

Liona would have liked to help, to take some of the burden off if she could, but Senna never gave her any tasks and it wasn’t her place to offer. So she did what she knew how to and waited for the rest. 

She spent quite a bit of time in the servants quarters during the day when Senna was away or studying in her tower. Liona had found a following among the serving staff anxious for gossip about the Inquisitor. She disappointed many by admitting there wasn’t much to say. Senna rarely talked to her, and seemed to keep her troubles close to her chest. 

“You must know something,” Sam, one of the young boys, had said one evening soon after her duties began, when she’d first been asked for information.

“Um, I’m not sure,” Liona admitted. She felt she’d told them everything.

“Have you heard Andraste speak to her?” Ana, and older woman who’d lost her family at Haven, asked from her place beside the hearth. She looked up from mending a tunic long enough for Liona to see the glimmer of hope in her eyes.

“Yeah! I heard Andraste tells her the future,” Sam whispered reverently. “That’s how she knew ‘bout the big demon.”

“I don’t think-” 

Another of the children jumped up and mimicked the cutting motion of a sword. “Wack! Wack! No more demon. Pop says she just set it on fire ‘cause she can magic. No demons will get us when the Herald can turn them to ash like nothin’.”

Sam nodded fervently. “Yeah, not like Haven with the Breach. S’why we’re here. Andraste told her where her secret castle is.”

Liona frowned. She let the children carry on as she remembered the sight of deep claw marks on Senna’s skin. It hadn’t been ‘like nothing’. She knew Senna had paid a price to kill the beast. The lines on her back had probably faded by now, but Liona knew she would always have that unsightly mark on her left side. Edith had told her that was where the demon struck first, and it came close to gutting her. 

Liona shuddered thinking about it. Senna was far more mortal than any of the servants would want to believe. 

She looked at Ana again. The woman smiled sadly when Liona said nothing to her question. They both had the same fears, and Liona didn’t yet have an answer to ease them. She didn’t want to doubt Andraste or the Maker but . . . . 

“Do not touch me!” an accented voice called in the hall. The children instantly quieted and ran to find some useful work to look busy with. The adults were slower to move, but no less anxious. 

“Shut it, princess, or you get the whip.” Liona recognized that soldier’s voice. So did some of the others, as they suddenly scrambled to find something to do. 

The door slammed open and a woman with russet skin and long, deep brown hair was thrown in ahead of the soldier. 

She pulled herself up with full dignity, though her dark red robes were dirt stained and torn. The human frantically looked around and Liona couldn’t help but look down at her own cracked knuckles. 

“What is this? I am no servant. You cannot put me in the serving quarters. I am daughter of Antoine Noguerra of Antiva. I demand you return me to my homeland,” she said, strong and sure though her jaw quivered. 

The soldier grinned darkly and swept into a mocking bow. “At once, my lady. Supply the coin and you can be on your way. Or perhaps you’d like to walk back yourself.” 

He stepped aside to allow her room to leave. The Antivan stuck her chin out but didn’t move. 

“Right,” he said after a moment. “As I thought. Now this is the only ‘free’ room in Skyhold. You best earn your keep or you’ll be wishing I left you for dead like the rest of your caravan. Grant will be by in the morning to assign your duties.”

He slammed the door behind him and the room instantly relaxed. All but the Antivan. She remained rooted in place. 

“Well now, what’s your name, dear?” Ana spoke first. 

The human whipped her head and looked down at her. “Spare the pleasantries, bruja. I should not be here, and I will be gone from this wretched place as soon as I can pen a letter to my father.”

“Have it your way.” Ana returned to her mending. Liona saw some of the others glare, their sanctuary invaded by an obnoxious noble. Despite her angry resolve, the woman took notice and her fingers worried at her worn finery as she nervously looked for somewhere to sit. 

Liona took pity on her and slid off her bed to approach. “There aren’t any empty beds left. You can share mine for now.”

She immediately balked at the idea, but seemed to realize her situation and accepted with a mumbled thank you, shoulders finally slumping. 

“I am Pernelle,” she said lowly as they sat together on the bed. She began to undo the laces on her expensive boots. “Though I often go by Pern.”

“Liona.” She didn’t try to ask any questions. She knew better than to pry.

They slept back to back on the small mattress. Liona tried to ignore the quiet sniffling behind her until she fell asleep. She was good at pretending she couldn’t hear. 

Pern was assigned to the kitchens, which was far better work than she might have gotten. Liona used her extensive free time to guide Pern in adjusting to Skyhold. She also helped her nurse the black eye she received the second day in the kitchen. 

“The cook has a bad temperament,” Liona explained as she dabbed the bruise with a cold cloth. 

“I cannot believe . . . No one has ever dared to strike me,” Pern mumbled, still in shock. 

Liona smiled. “You learn quickly how to get out of the way when you see the angry ones coming.”

Pern said nothing and stared past her at the wall. She was adjusting slowly, hesitantly, but like everyone else she had no choice but to adapt.

It was not long after that, while the two women slept with backs pressed against each other as they’d grown accustomed to doing, that the bell above Liona’s head tinkled late one evening. 

She instantly shot awake, heart fluttering in dreadful anticipation. Liona sat up and scrambled to light the candle at her bedside. She took it with her to illuminate the dark hall as she silently passed through to the Inquisitor’s tower. The climb was easier now, faster, and she came to the top to find the expansive room bathed in moonlight. The Inquisitor stood in the open doorway to the balcony. 

“Yes, My Lady?” Liona said. 

Senna looked at her and Liona could see the fatigue on her, somehow more striking in the darkness. She hesitated, then said, “Would you mind - Could you . . . lay with me?”

Liona’s hand shot to cover her mouth as heat pooled in her cheeks. What a proposition! “My Lady, I - I -”

Senna sighed, heavy and laden. “Not like that. Just - nevermind. You can go.” 

She turned away. Liona shuffled by the stairs, her fickle courage sticking long enough for her to blurt, “You don’t sleep well?”

Liona sucked in a breath. Oh, that was out of line. She shouldn’t have asked. It wasn’t her place. Oh, she was in trouble. 

But a shadow of a smile passed over Senna’s lips. “No. In my clan, I never slept alone like this. There was always someone up late talking or working. You could always smell the fire or hear the halla nearby. It’s too quiet up here and I thought, if I had someone beside me, maybe it would be easier.”

Senna shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m sorry I woke you.” 

“No, no.” Liona swallowed. “I’m happy to se- to help you, if I can. I mean, if you want. I mean, I’m sure I could fetch someone more suitable if you like.”

“You don’t have to be so nervous. And you don’t have to do it if you don’t want. I will never punish you for any reason,” Senna said. “I only ask you because, well, I lost the only other person I would feel safe with.”

Liona’s heart stuttered. “You feel safe with me?”

“More than anyone else here, at least. No offense meant, but you couldn’t hurt me even if you wanted to, which I doubt.” 

“No! Oh, Maker, no I wouldn’t even think of it,” Liona said.

Senna smiled briefly and wandered to the fourposter. Liona blew out the candle and set it on the floor next to the banister. She rushed over to join Senna as she crawled in under the covers. 

Oh, this felt so strange. Okay, she was allowed to lay in the bed. She’d been given permission. But it was a very large bed, big enough for three people to lay comfortably in, and she was suddenly afraid of dirtying the pillows and sheets by touching them. Liona held her breath and slid down onto the plush blankets. She stared at the ceiling, tense and perfectly still. 

She didn’t know a bed could be this comfortable. It was so soft, so fluffy under her back and shoulders. Her head sunk down into the pillow like it was made for her. 

“You can get under the blanket,” Senna said wryly beside her. 

“I’m fine,” Liona squeaked. 

“Please?”

After a breath, she did as asked and maneuvered to shimmy down between the sheets. Liona sighed happily. She was lying on a cloud and wrapped in feathers. How could anyone have trouble sleeping here?

The silence felt uncomfortably loud as Liona lay stiff as a board. So she was supposed to stay here until Senna fell asleep. Senna, the Inquisitor, the blessed Herald, wanted to sleep next to her. But then what? Was she supposed to stay? Or leave once sleep claimed her charge? Oh no, which was better? She wasn’t sure. 

“Are you from an alienage?” Senna’s quiet voice asked in the darkness next to her. Liona tentatively turned her head. The Herald was on her side, facing Liona, right arm shoved under the pillow beneath her head. 

“Yes, in Denerim, My Lady.”

Senna huffed. “Is it truly so difficult to call me by name?”

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “Senna.” 

It felt heavy on her tongue and her stomach roiled in protest, but she was also strangely proud for having finally said it. 

“Don’t apologize,” the woman said, a smile in her tone. They were silent for a long time and Liona began to wonder if Senna had fallen asleep. She still felt wide awake despite how comfortable she was. 

“Any family?” Senna asked quietly. 

Liona shook her head. “Not anymore.”

Senna hummed. “Me neither.”

Oh. 

She had never considered the Herald’s family. She seemed so strong and sure on her own. Who would need family when they were guided by a god? But Liona’s heart clenched when she thought of the tone in Senna’s voice when she talked about her clan. She must miss them terribly.

“I’m sure,” Liona broached hesitantly, “they are with the Maker.”

“You’re Andrastian?”

“Yes.”

“Even with the way the humans treat elves? You would take on their god?” Senna asked. 

“I cannot blame the Maker when people try to use his name for their own benefit. There are always evil people, and there are good people too. The Maker will judge them for what they’ve done, good or bad.”

“I suppose,” Senna said in the darkness. Liona could hear her quiet breaths only inches away. 

“Did you . . . really meet Andraste in the Fade?” Liona breathed. She was becoming far too confident around Senna.

Her companion was silent for a moment too long and Liona’s heart dropped through her stomach. “I don’t remember much of what happened. Maybe.”

“Oh.” Liona’s fingers curled around the soft sheets. “So she didn’t guide you here in dreams?”

“I was guided to Skyhold in a dream, that much is true. Whether it was a god . . . I don’t know. I’m not sure what I believe anymore,” Senna admitted. 

“Oh.” Liona was glad for the darkness. It hid the obvious disappointment in her eyes and along the curve of her frown. She hadn’t expected Senna would be struggling with her own faith. Though it seemed she didn’t believe in the Maker in the first place. Maybe this was how he was revealing himself to the Herald. Maybe she would grow to believe.

The conversation ended at that. It should have been easy to fall asleep but Liona felt like she should make sure Senna was able to rest before giving in to dreams herself. So she fought to stay alert as the warm cocoon she was wrapped in threatened to steal her consciousness first.

“Theneras’eth,” Senna mumbled some time later. Liona flushed. That was elven. Senna had actually spoken to her in elven. Her heart fluttered in gratitude and exaltation. She had no idea what it meant and she wouldn’t dare to disturb the woman beside her. She was obviously close to sleep. But Liona was awoken with a burst of giddiness at the small honor. 

The buzz of happiness kept her awake as Senna’s breath slowed. As she realized the Herald was finally asleep the rush of anxiety struck. What should she do now? Her duty was finished, wasn’t it? Did that mean she should leave? Or was she expected to stay to offer comfort should Senna wake in the night? If Senna did wake, would it be worse for her to have left when she wanted her to stay, or stayed when she didn’t want her anymore? 

She spent a long time mulling it over. Probably longer than she should have. In truth, she was very comfortable and didn’t want to leave. But she wasn’t sure if she would get in trouble for taking advantage of Senna’s kindness. 

It was good that she stayed. 

It started as a hum that raised the hairs on her arms, like a storm beside her skin ready to pop with lightning. Only it wasn’t lightning that finally crackled, but an eerie green glow that cast long shadows across the dark room. Liona held her breath. 

She knew of the blessed mark, the one that gave Senna her title. Seeing and feeling it for herself was a different matter. She didn’t know much of magic, but even she could tell this was no normal enchantment. Liona watched in wonder as it bathed Senna’s whole hand, casting out small sparks. 

Senna grunted. Her fist clenched hard, distorting and dampening the light. She writhed, obviously uncomfortable, but had yet to wake. Hardly caring for consequences, Liona could only think of her assignment and the exhaustion in Senna’s eyes. Deciding that the mark must be what kept her from sleep, Liona grasped Senna’s clenched fist with both hands, shushing the furrow on her brow. 

She expected it to burn with holy fire but the magic was cool to the touch and did nothing to harm her save a prickle of sensation on her palms. Liona shook regardless, waiting for some divine retribution for touching what belonged to Andraste. Still, she couldn’t let go when she saw how it calmed her companion. As she soothed her thumb along the back of Senna’s hand she offered up a prayer. 

_Maker, let her rest._

Slowly, the light faded down to nothing and Liona was left awake in the darkness. Any thought of leaving had been banished. She kept vigilant watch, never letting go of the hand in her grasp even after sleep finally claimed her. 

She woke warm at dawn. Liona had become so used to feeling Pern against her back she didn’t think anything odd about the breathing body pressed to her. Until she opened her eyes and saw the Inquisitor’s quarters. She was in the Inquisitor’s bed. With the Inquisitor behind her. Liona froze. 

After several long moments gripped by unexplainable fear, she noticed Senna wasn’t awake. Her heart fluttered. She’d not known the woman to sleep past first light. Had she . . . was it really due to her presence that Senna was able to rest soundly? Liona flushed with joy. She tried her best to remain still, no longer out of fear, but to allow her companion to continue sleeping as long as she could. 

Unfortunately the sun was still reaching to cast light into the room when the door creaked open. 

Oh no. 

Someone was coming up. They would see her - see them like this with Senna’s arm slung loose across her torso. Liona let go of the hand she’d been holding and tried to discreetly slink down in the covers, still mindful of the woman behind her. 

It was no use. 

“Senna?” The blonde commander mounted the last of the steps, confusion on his brow at the stillness of the room until his gaze settled on the occupied bed. Liona, red faced in embarrassment, watched his eyes widen as a pink tinge arose on his pale cheeks. 

“E-excuse me,” he said, averting his gaze to one of the bedposts. “I didn’t realize - that is, I probably should have knocked. Not that I was expecting - er, nevermind. I’ll come back. Later.”

“It’s not like that,” Liona whispered fiercely. 

“There’s no shame in wanting company.”

“You have to believe me,” Liona whined. She didn’t want to get in trouble for rumor spreading that she slept with the Inquisitor. She knew how vicious the gossip could get. “She couldn’t sleep, that’s all.”

“Oh. I see.” A grim understanding settled in his eyes. He really looked at her this time, looked at the situation as if it was some puzzle he’d settled on figuring out. Liona felt her face heating again. 

“See that she rests as long as you can get her to. I know it’s no easy task. I will inform the others not to disturb her until she comes down,” he said. 

Liona nodded emphatically. Amazingly, Senna had not woken at their conversation. Well, maybe it wasn’t so surprising. The commander left far more quietly than he entered. 

She laid there for a long time. Liona took up counting spoons in her head, drawing lines in the stone wall with her eyes, and listening to the deep breaths behind her. Sometime close to midmorning, Senna grumbled and slid away from her. For a moment Liona thought she’d finally woken, but she merely turned her back and was still again.

Slowly, Liona slipped from the mattress. She didn’t want to leave, but she wanted Senna to have a meal ready when she did wake up. Liona padded down the steps to the main hall, carefully silent. When she pushed open the door she was greeted not only with the sight of the normal bustle of Skyhold, but a young soldier posted beside the tower entrance as well. 

“Oh, hello,” the woman greeted. 

“Is there something I can do for you?” Liona asked, not quite sure why the soldier was there at all.

“I’m settled,” she answered with a mischievous smile. “But I guess now I know why I'm not to let anyone up.”

Liona frowned. “It's not like that.”

“Sure thing, rabbit.”

There was nothing she could do. Despite her best effort, word would get out the Herald was bedding one of the serving staff. Would it be a scandal at all since Senna was an elf? Or - and at the thought Liona's stomach roiled - would people use it as an excuse to downplay her importance to both the Inquisition and the future of Thedas? She knew many of the humans wanted Senna gone. And they would use any opportunity to tear the power she gained out from under her. 

All this simply because the woman couldn't sleep at night. Liona knew she shouldn't have stayed. 

She rushed to finish her task of finding breakfast, blinking away tears at causing such trouble, and was intercepted only a few strides into the main hall. 

It was almost as if he appeared out of thin air. The platter of food and drink in his hands said otherwise. Still, Liona knew she should have noticed him before he was standing directly in front of her. 

“It’s getting lighter. You helped. Soon I can help too,” he said. He offered her the plate in his hands and she immediately knew it was for Senna.

“O-oh, thank you.” A lightness bubbled in her chest as she turned back to the tower. She helped. Someone had said it but already she’d forgotten who. 

The way up the stairs was slowed by her carefulness. When she arrived at the top, she was disappointed to see the Inquisitor already awake. She sat on the edge of the bed, staring blearily at the floor. Senna looked up when Liona entered and set the platter on the side table. 

“Good morning. I brought breakfast, if you’re hungry.” Porridge, an apple, sweet bread still hot from the oven by the way it steamed, and a pitcher of watered wine. It was a good meal, Liona thought, and she would hate to see it wasted. If Senna could sleep, maybe now she could eat too.

Without a word, the woman stumbled from the bed and fell hard into her chair. She rubbed her forehead and stared at the plate before her. 

_Please eat._

Liona clasped her hands together as she waited. 

“How could I have slept so late?” Senna grumbled. Liona held her tongue. She knew the question wasn’t directed at her. The next one, however, was. “Have you seen Cullen this morning? He was supposed to bring me his survey at first light.” 

Her heart thumped. Cullen told her to make Senna rest as long as possible. She would surely get straight to work if she knew she had missed him. Liona should lie, right?

“No My- um, Senna,” she said after a long pause. 

Senna glanced up at her before tearing into the sweet bread with her fingers. “You’re a terrible liar.” 

Liona flushed. “He wanted you to rest.”

“Go find him and bring me that report. Please.” 

She didn’t want to. But Liona couldn’t say no to a direct order. So she trudged down the stairs, comforted by the small victory of seeing Senna eating. 

The soldier at the door made it easy enough to find the Commander. He was in his office on the battlements. While he wasn’t happy to hear Senna wanted the report, he wasn’t surprised either. He thanked Liona for trying and she went away with a small grin, several slips of parchment in her grip. 

She made it halfway through the courtyard. By then Pern had caught sight of her and came running over. The antivan had apparently been looking for her. 

“Liona!”

“Pern, are you finish-”

“You slept with the Inquisitor?” the human whispered harshly. 

Liona couldn’t help but roll her eyes. She was not at all shocked that the gossip spread so fast. “Not you too.”

“What do you mean? You never returned last night and only came down from her tower not an hour ago. What am I supposed to think?” Pern said, hands stationed at her hips. 

“It’s just gossip. Nothing happened.”

“Then what were you doing?” Pern asked. 

Liona glanced down at her toes. “She . . . can’t sleep at night. I was trying to help. If I’d known it would cause this much trouble -”

“Oh hush. It’s nothing new. Nobles sleep with their servants all the time. I only worry because it doesn’t seem like you to do something like that,” she explained. 

“Oh. Thank you,” Liona mumbled.

“There you are, Liona.”

The elf turned to see Healer Edith approaching from the lower courtyard. “Hello, healer.”

“I heard some interesting talk about the Inquisitor’s servant this morning,” she said, a smile tugging at her lip. 

Liona groaned. Really? 

“I don’t believe a word of it, if that helps any,” Edith continued. 

“You don’t?” Pern asked. “Why not?”

“A hunch,” she said simply. She turned back to Liona. “I wanted to speak with you since I thought you’d like some help combatting the rumors. The Inquisitor is on thin ice as it is. We don’t need to add spurious gossip about her love life to the fodder.”

“How would we do that? Word has already gotten out,” Liona said. 

“The best way to make someone forget a rumor is to give them a better one. Someone sleeping with their servant is normal fare. But, say, someone needing their servant to keep watch as they commune with Andraste, is far more sensational,” Edith said.

Liona frowned. “But that’s not what happened.”

“Is it not? You don’t know what her dreams entailed, do you?” 

“Well, no.” She thought of the blessed mark shining in the darkness. “Her hand glowed while she was asleep. Maybe that means something.”

“It did?” Pern asked. Liona nodded.

“So it may be that she was visited. We can use that. I can start to spread the story to the other healers and whoever else will listen,” Edith said.

“I will too,” Pern agreed. “You will not suffer because of idle talk.”

Liona worried her lip.

“All you will need to do is confirm our story when people ask,” Edith said. “The rest will grow on its own.”

“Okay,” the elf agreed. She didn’t like the idea of lying, but she knew it was better than giving people a reason to rail against Senna. 

“Now, you have work to do, don’t you?” Edith said. 

Liona nodded and bid them goodbye before rushing back to the main hall. She trudged up the stairs once again, remembering that she still needed to make the bed when she gave Senna her report. The soft pad of footsteps echoing on the stone walls brought her head up. An elven man was coming down from the tower. Liona stepped aside to let him pass. He thanked her, voice much softer than his taut jaw would have led her to believe. 

She watched him for a moment before continuing on her way up. She’d never seen him before. He didn’t look like one of the serving staff. Maybe he was Dalish? But wouldn’t he have tattoos like Senna? She briefly wondered what business he had with the Inquisitor, but it wasn’t her place to know. 

Senna was still at her table. She was fully awake, with a somber tilt to her lips. A new slip of parchment was in her hand. She thanked Liona for the report and said no more. Liona nodded, returned to her duties, and tried not to be overly curious. 

One thing she did know was that, when she went to collect the breakfast dishes, there was no food left on Senna’s plate. That counted for something.


	5. The Way of Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow so I’m really sorry this has taken so long (again) and I hope there’s still some interest in this fic out there ^^; This chapter isn’t too exciting, though there’s some fun stuff at the end! Already working on chapter 6 since I’m looking forward to some fun scenes in it :3

Senna rubbed her eye and tried not to look as tired as she felt. One good night of sleep ruined her. Now it seemed her body was intent on recovering all the rest she had gone without over the last few weeks. She didn't have time for that. She managed to push the weariness away and walked into Josephine's 'office'.

The ambassador was standing with Vivienne, and while Senna knew she would be present she still felt her spine straighten. Vivienne, to her credit, hardly blinked.

In the aftermath of their confrontation, when she stopped to think through what Vivienne must have felt, Senna understood where she was coming from. In the Enchanter's mind Solas was a danger to everyone in the Inquisition. Senna could appreciate her care of the people, even if her method was wrong. She must have known Senna wouldn't act against Solas and sought to take care of the problem herself. And she was right. They were both lucky nothing came of their meeting. Senna couldn't say what she would have done. She did not feel in control of the Inquisition and Vivienne's slight only made it more obvious she wasn't the one in power. Yet.

That was quickly changing.

“Ah, good morning, Inquisitor,” Josephine said when she entered.

Senna nodded and greeted them. “Shall we begin?”

“Yes, of course.”

Vivienne handed Senna a small stack of paper, expression neutral. “There are 47 key members of the Orlesian court. All will be in attendance at the Ball. By the time we set out, you will know their strengths, their weaknesses, and how they can be of use to the Inquisition.”

Senna took a deep breath. Her eyes roved over the foreign names before her. “That's more than I was expecting.”

“They will know if you are only familiar with the bare minimum,” Josephine explained. “We must make them believe you have known the court your whole life or no one in Orlais will take you, or the Inquisition, seriously.”

Senna nodded. She understood she was walking into a den of vipers. She had already met enough Orlesians to know that much.

The morning was spent familiarizing herself with every name and their relationship to each other. When her instructors were satisfied, they moved to the basics of etiquette. Despite the information and the even tone in her voice, Senna could feel the tension between herself and Vivienne.

“Enchanter,” she broached as Josephine called an end to the lesson.

“If you are still concerned about Solas, you needn't be. You have made your decision and I will not interfere,” Vivienne countered before she finished.

“I see.” Senna had a feeling anything she said would be deflected, and dropped the matter before it was even brought up. As long as they could work together she would ignore the rest. Thankfully, that was not the only thing she wanted to talk about. “Actually, I decided to pursue the knight enchanter discipline and wondered if you had any resources to share.”

Senna basked in the surprise on Vivienne's face.

“Certainly. I will have the relevant texts sent to your quarters. I can also contact my old teacher to see if she would be willing to assist. I do not have the time to train you myself,” Vivienne said.

“No, I wouldn't expect it.” The lessons in Orlesian politics were more than enough for both of them. “Thank you. I would be happy to have her instruction.”

They parted amicably enough, though Senna noted the way her own shoulders instinctively relaxed as she crossed the hall to her quarters.

She stopped short at the door. The tower entrance was flung open, a stopper in place to keep it from swinging closed. Senna peered up the stairs but no one was in view. As she climbed, she heard a great scuffling.

“Bit further, lads.” She recognized Blackwall's voice easily enough and her curiosity mounted. By the panting and grunting echoing down the stone, they were moving something heavy. 

She met them right before the landing to her quarters. One man in the back was carrying a high backed wooden chair, and four others, including Blackwall himself, were lugging a great desk up the last flight of stairs. Ah, well that explained things. 

“Don’t hurt yourselves,” she called up wryly. They must not have known she was behind them, for one of the men almost lost his grip and Blackwall’s bushy brows rose nearly to his hair. 

“Inquisitor! We weren’t expecting you back yet.” 

“I can see. Need help?” 

“No, no. We’re almost finished,” he said. They shuffled the rest of the way rather quickly and set the furniture piece on the other side of the room in the empty corner. She noted there were several other new items, including a chaise by the stairs and a long fur rug in front of the mantle. Liona was arranging a vase of flowers on the small table, which had been moved to the far side of the room. All in all, the place looked far more warm and habitable than she’d ever seen it. 

“I assume this is Josephine’s doing?” Senna addressed Liona. 

“Oh, yes, mostly. It was a bit of a surprise but you’re already here. So, surprise!” 

Senna smiled briefly. She was happy Liona had lost much of the nervousness that plagued their relationship in those first days. Her easy smile was one of the few things that gave Senna peace. 

“Thank you,” Senna said. It wasn’t a bad look for the room, and she could appreciate the effort put into the design of the desk and sofa. There were two simple bookshelves set up behind the desk as well. It seemed they had planned ahead for all the reading Josephine would inevitably require of her. 

Blackwall’s men left the room with quick salutes and salutations. The bearded human stayed behind. 

“I hope the furniture is to your liking. I’m not familiar with Dalish craftsmanship, but if nothing else it should serve its purpose well,” he said. 

“You made these?” Senna asked, more surprised than she probably should have been. 

Blackwall chuckled. “Aye, the wood furniture. I’m no good with fabrics. I figured I couldn’t do worse than be of use in the rebuilding efforts. Busy hands keep the mind still, as they say.”

“Thank you, Blackwall.” And she meant it. Taking time to craft something for her was far more meaningful than purchasing it. 

He scratched the back of one large hand with blunt nails and cleared his throat. “I understand the things you’ve suffered aren’t for light conversation, but if you need an ear or an ale I can provide both. Holding it in your chest does no good.”

“I will . . . keep that in mind.” Senna’s eyes flit to Liona, who was making herself busy stoking the fire. 

“Too early. I understand. But if I may say so, you showed more tenacity than most soldiers in battle. I’ve seen men go mad from lesser frights. The Inquisition is lucky to have that strength, and I’d wager you’d make even a coward brave enough to fight beside you,” he said. “Bah, listen to me rambling like an old man. I’m sure you have work to do.” 

“No, I appreciate that. It’s high praise from a warden. I’ve never fought darkspawn myself, so I can only imagine the horror you’ve seen.”

“It’s not a pretty sight,” he agreed. But he said nothing more and she got the distinct impression he didn’t want to talk about it. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. Good day.”

She thanked him again as he left. 

It was such a contrast. Of course, Blackwall and Vivienne were two entirely different kinds of humans, but to see it so starkly laid out caught Senna’s attention. The Enchanter, and many others of the upper echelon of Thedas, gave her either begrudging respect or ignored her station entirely. Senna was happy for Josephine and her tireless campaign to make the idea of a Dalish elf leading the Inquisition more palatable for those in power. Even within the walls of Skyhold it was not an easy task. 

So she was happy for those like Blackwall, like Cullen. The soldiers had taken to her far more quickly than anyone else, save the serving staff. Her battle with Envy, however skewed the tale had become, was common knowledge. She was saluted readily by anyone in armor or scout’s uniform. Even the templars gave her that deference, though from Leliana’s careful observations she knew there was still much discontent over Solas. Thankfully most did not know who he was directly and could not accost him themselves. She wouldn’t stand for it if they tried.

There were few ways to make the templars trust her, being a mage herself. But Senna took it as an opportunity to win them over in a rather practical way when Cullen approached her the morning after her first lesson in Orlesian politics.

“Lady Vivienne told me you are planning to become a knight enchanter,” he said.

“I am,” Senna said, a little confused at his interest. It was true Cullen had suggested she pursue a new discipline, but he had no knowledge of magical studies himself save perhaps what he learned second hand as a templar. 

“If you like, I can teach you how to handle a real sword. The techniques would transfer easily enough,” he explained. “And sparring is a good way to tire yourself enough to sleep at night.” 

Senna smiled grimly. She knew it was no secret among her advisors that she barely slept. To hear him say so openly, however, brought a sting of embarrassment to her chest. They shouldn’t be worried about her. Not him, not Blackwall, not even Liona. She was supposed to be their leader, the one they depended on, not the one they took care of. 

But learning swordsmanship wasn’t a bad idea. She recalled how helpless she felt with only a sword in hand when she faced Corypheus. And should she be without magic or a staff again, having a blade would be better than nothing. So she accepted his offer and they agreed to meet in the courtyard after supper.

Senna made sure to dress lightly, in a thin tunic and worn leggings, since she knew no matter how cool Skyhold seemed at the moment, when they were in the middle of sparring she would wish for a lower body temperature. 

Cullen handed her a blunt sword with little pretense. “We shall skip over the basics. You have seen combat and know how to wield a weapon. The greatest difference between a staff and a sword is your aggression with it. Mages often use staves to protect; to block or retaliate with a blade. But with a sword your aim is to strike fast and first. Every defensive move should double as an opportunity to close on your opponent. Every deflection should move you forward, and every side step should put you in an opening. Now, put your foot forward. Like this.”

It was obvious from his instruction he had given the same speech to many before her. She appreciated his brevity. Her mouth twitched into a reminiscent smile as she recalled Solas’ lessons often included a full lecture before anything was put to practice. With Cullen, she was made to move as she learned. At the outset, she didn’t mind it. That quickly dissipated. 

It felt like only a matter of seconds - though really they practiced for several minutes - before the blade became heavy enough to make her arms quiver. She felt so . . . weak. Embarrassingly so. She had never felt so ill prepared for combat, and she truly realized the toll her negligence had taken on her body. What if Corypheus attacked tomorrow? What if a rift spit out demons over Skyhold? She could not afford to sit aside and leave the battle to others.

Barely half an hour passed by the time Cullen called the session finished. Senna nodded, panting and shaking but awake in the way only such work could bring. It was refreshing despite the nausea of overexertion churning in her belly. 

A small crowd, mostly soldiers, had gathered out of curiosity. Cullen waved them off as he left, looking no worse for wear save a light sweat on his brow. Senna frowned. She would have to try harder. 

When she finally returned to her room for the night, she slept quickly, without dreams, for the first time since it all began. That, at least, was a comfort.

Senna found her days focusing more and more on preparations: in the mornings, her near daily meetings with Josephine and Vivienne, and in the evenings, sparring with Cullen. The rest of the time was spent overseeing the rebuilding of Skyhold, managing the Inquisition’s most pressing affairs, and reading a great deal more than she ever thought she would need to know about both Ferelden and Orlais. Among all of the busy work, however, there was one issue she wanted to attend without the prompting of her advisors. 

That was how she came to the rotunda, seeking the company of a man she had avoided far longer than she cared to admit. 

Solas was engrossed in a lengthy tome when she entered. Senna glanced over the room, seeing his preparations for painting in the form of sheets over the sparse furniture and several large basins along the wall. He had asked her a little over a week ago for approval to make a mural of the rotunda’s walls. She was so surprised - both that he had such skill and that he would want to use it for the Inquisition - that she agreed. He left her with a list of materials that needed to be ordered in their next shipment and they hadn’t spoken since. She imagined he preferred it as much as she did. Senna had no doubt he had a difficult time staying in her presence. 

She was glad to see his project moving along, though it seemed he had stopped to wait on the rest of his materials. She recalled Blackwall’s words and wondered if Solas purposefully chose a distraction that would use his hands as well as his head. 

“Inquisitor,” he greeted. 

She moved to the opposite side of the desk and lifted the cover enough to peek at the title. “ _On the Observance of Veil Tremors_?”

“Yes. I thought to study the Veil to better determine its relationship with the anchor.” 

“Ah.” Her fist clenched as she discreetly shifted to put as much of herself between him and her left arm as possible. 

She was being ridiculous again. Solas was not Envy. He didn’t want the anchor, except perhaps as a magical anomaly worth studying. He wanted to help her. 

That feeling of mistrust, of doubt, was what brought her to him in the first place. She hated being wary of him without cause. He was not the demon that hurt her. He was just as much a victim of it all, if not moreso. She should not feel this way towards him. Avoiding him was not solving anything. Some small part of her had hoped that time would wash away her fear, but she knew that was never how such things worked. She would have to face it, face him, head on. That was the only way she knew to stop the cold sweat on the back of her neck, or the shudder along her muscles when he spoke. Perhaps it could even stop the nightmares. 

“Was there something you needed?” he asked as her teeth bit together in resolve. 

“I understand you have your own duties to attend but, if you have time, I wanted to continue harnessing the anchor and thought you might like to be in attendance,” she said. 

His brow rose in surprise. He was not expecting her to offer to be in his company. “You are certain?” 

“Of course.” She would force herself to be comfortable if that was what it took. “I am free after lunch most days. I was going to practice at the ridge outside the gate.”

“Alright. I will join you beginning tomorrow. That you have already had some success in warping the Veil is remarkable enough. I should like to see if you manage to fully control the mark,” he said with a stiff nod. 

“That’s the plan.” 

Senna felt tension crawl up her spine as the conversation ended. Everything in her being told her to leave immediately. She finished what she came to do. There was no need to look at him anymore. But she resisted the fleeing instinct and stood her ground against herself. She would get over this, dammit. She would look Solas in the eye and she would trust that he was real. 

“Stop. It’s too loud.”

Senna shuddered in her skin at the quiet, panicked voice echoing over them. She looked frantically for the source and found Cole, whom she had almost forgotten, seated on the scaffold behind Solas. His legs were dangling off the edge and he was bent nearly double, hands cupping his ears. But there was nothing to hear. 

“How long have you been there?” Senna gasped. She thought she would have noticed him when she came in. From Solas’ expression, Cole had been there for some time.

“Apologies, Cole,” Solas said. A soft, somber smile flit over his lips. “This cannot be easy for you.”

“Mockeries of memories and miseries, making me mistake dreams. I know what is real. I will make me see. I know what’s real. I know what’s real,” the spirit murmured in a rush, swaying in place. 

Senna sighed and tried not to look as if her secret thoughts had just been spoken aloud. “You can calm him down, can’t you? I have work to attend.” 

“Yes, Inquisitor.” Solas squared his shoulders. 

Senna retreated. 

The only good thing about it all was that she was able to use her intense feelings as fodder to fuel the anchor. Her attempt the next day, with Solas on careful watch for spirits passing through, was only slightly more successful than the first. She managed to make a small rip and a small wisp not aware enough to be aggressive passed through. They were able to send it back easily enough. It did make Senna wonder what would happen when she made a tear large enough for a demon or two. She hadn’t been in combat since the battle with Envy. At the least, Cullen was helping her get back up to strength, and then some. Surely she would be prepared if something happened. 

Nothing of the sort came up in those first few days. 

Senna received good news first. She desperately needed some small distraction from everything, and this was a worthy one. Dalish scouts had been spotted on the road to Skyhold. With them was a halla bearing a cart that held a single young sapling. Clan Varmel had returned. 

Senna had doubted they would. She knew the clan from meetings during Arlathvhen and she was aware of their kill on sight policy with humans. But they were the closest to Skyhold and she knew the First from childhood. It had not been difficult to request their aid the first time. Senna thought that they might have felt tricked when they arrived and the dalish that asked for them was nowhere to be found. She was pleasantly surprised to be wrong. Josephine had worked verbal magic once again.

“Aneth ara,” Senna greeted proudly as the four elves crossed the threshold into her fortress. The dual sensation of joy and sorrow at the sight of her own people was almost overwhelming. She had managed to push down her homesickness some months ago in Haven, and it was rushing back to the surface. Tears pricked at her eyes just to see the halla with them. 

“Aneth ara, lethallan,” the golden eyed First responded. Her fingers wrapped tight around her staff were the only sign of her discomfort. “It’s been a long time.”

“It has.” Senna nodded. “I was surprised you came back, Ashanna.”

“I wanted to see with my own eyes the Dalish woman who commands the humans. Honestly, I thought it was a joke,” Ashanna said. Her eyes darted to the nearest humans, still a few paces away.

Senna snorted. “Normally I would agree. But it’s true. I lead the Inquisition. The tale is as unusual as you might expect. That is for later, though. Come in, rest. I would like to hear news of your clan. It has been too long since I supped with my own people.”

It took a great deal of convincing to get them to leave their halla, Laneth, with Dennett. In the end, Laneth chose to go with the horsemaster. Perhaps she sensed his earnest respect. Ashanna was quick to inform him halla rarely gave their trust so quickly and that he should be honored. He was. Senna had never seen him so happy. 

She led the four elves through the main hall on the way to her tower and noticed with a wry smile the battle ready tenseness on their shoulders. It seemed so long ago that she lost the same wariness. 

They were much more at ease in the privacy of her room. When dinner came and the wine flowed, Senna felt more at home than she had in months.To spend a night with her own kin again was a greater reward for her work than she could have asked for. 

She almost regretted becoming Inquisitor then. She almost regretted giving herself over to the humans and wondered under what ailment she had been suffering to leave her home behind. But then she saw Liona's face. The girl was practically dazzled at the sight of the roomful of Dalish seated on the floor in front of the fireplace. And she couldn't deny the good the organization was doing. One day, though, she would go back. One day she would return to the Marches, a stronger person and a more capable leader. Maybe she would be able to change Thedas for the better.

Maybe, in the end, it would be worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ashanna Varmel belongs to destinyapostasy :3 Thanks for letting me use her!


	6. Smoke and Mirrors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm not sure if the ending fits with the rest of the chapter, but maybe the jarring transition makes it better? Not sure but I hope you guys enjoy hehehe
> 
> I played around with the idea of elves having tapetum lucidum and used it for my own twisted purpose >3
> 
> Once again, Ashanna belongs to the amazing destinyapostasy
> 
> _Theneras’eth_ \- Goodnight, lit. dream safely

She had lost her faith.

It wasn't a surprising revelation. The thought had lingered in her mind for some time. And it had become a sudden and sure admission that she could no longer refute. Ever since the Dread Wolf led her to Skyhold she had doubted.

There had been so much on her mind already that she didn’t give much thought to it. But standing with Ashanna in Skyhold’s garden it was painfully obvious.

Senna had asked them to come because she wanted to give some small honor to those that died under her watch in Haven. The humans had their own ritual with their own god and she had thought, at the time, to do the same courtesy. Now she only hoped Ashanna believed so their prayer would be worth something.

As they dug the hole for the sapling to be planted in, she knew she couldn't pray honestly. She no longer believed in the divinity of the Pantheon.

Fen'Harel was real, yes, but what she knew of him after all those dreams was that the Dalish were very, very wrong about his nature. And if they were mistaken about one god, it was likely true of the others. She didn't know what that might mean for her people. Or for her. What should she even do with that knowledge? No sane Dalish would believe her tale of the benevolent Wolf. She wouldn't have believed it had she not found Skyhold, or Solas afterward.

Senna took a deep breath, knelt with Ashanna, and repeated words she had memorized over a decade ago.

_"Hear me, Falon’Din. Heed my prayer:_

_May those on the path to greet you  
Experience the happiness of the Pantheon_

_May those on the path to greet you  
Find the infinite peace of the Beyond_

_May those on the path to greet you  
Learn the greater mysteries beyond the Veil._

_May those on the path to greet you  
Gather strength to stay upon the trail_

_For there is the home of final glory.  
Free from the fangs of Fen’Harel_

_Blessings upon the eternal dreamers.”_

Senna opened her eyes and stared at the budding leaves of the sapling. She was reminded of her brush with death in the mountain pass. How Fen’Harel came in a vision, how he bared his fangs not to consume but to heal her. There was so much she wanted to know, so many questions she wanted answered, she didn’t know where to start. Or who to ask.

“You really care about the humans,” Ashanna said with a hint of surprise. With the ritual finished, she had pulled out her pipe and leaned back in the soft grass.

“Not at first.” Senna smiled. “The Inquisition is sort of my clan now.”

“I don’t know, that sounds dangerous.”

“Probably.” She shook her head, already dizzy with the heavy smoke from her companion. She had always had an abysmally low tolerance. “But most of them trust me now. If I can get enough influence, I might even be able to improve laws for our people.”

“I’m sure you’ll need an army and blessings from each of the Creators to do so.” Ashanna blew another stream of smoke from her lips and nose. She flicked her fingers, curling the smoke into the shape of a halla with simple magic.

Senna shrugged. “It worked with Wycome, the city my clan is settled near. We have a land contract and trade agreements.”

Ashanna scoffed. “How long do you think that will last?”

“. . . Who knows.”

“Sorry,” Ashanna mumbled.

“No, you’re right. I don’t believe it. I only wanted something to make me hopeful. When was the last time something didn’t end in disaster for us?”

“I’ll let you know when we find evidence of it,” Ashanna said. She glanced to the side. “Anyway, it looks like some of your people are curious.”

It was true there were several people peeking over the battlements and whispering on the long portico to the gardens. None entered, perhaps knowing not to disturb them, but that didn’t stop their interest. Senna shrugged.

“They’re always curious.”

“Still . . . maybe we could go back to your room?”

Right. Ashanna was easily unnerved by all the human eyes. Senna nodded, stood, and dusted her breeches. They were finished anyway. Ashanna snuffed out her pipe.

They had barely made it under the cover of the portico before Cullen approached.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” he began.

“No, what did you need, Commander?” Ashanna shuffled slightly behind Senna.

“I . . .” He scratched his neck. “If it is not prying, I wondered what you were doing in the garden. It looked like prayer. Of course, it’s your own affair and you don’t have to tell me if you want it to remain so.”

“It’s not that serious,” Senna said. “You’re right, we planted a vallasdahlen to remember the people that died in Haven, and prayed to Falon’Din to guide them to the Beyond. Normally, we would plant a tree for each life but we don’t have the resources for it. One was the least I could do.”

“I see. When you requested that val- . . . tree, I asked Solas out of curiosity. I had hoped it was for our people at Haven and am glad to hear that it was. I believe there are many in Skyhold who would like to know what you’ve done to honor them. If you don’t mind,” he said.

Senna frowned and chose her words carefully. “I do not mind them knowing, but I would be sure the people are aware it is a gift given to the Elven gods. They should not use it to pray to Andraste. But if they want to leave gifts or flowers they are welcome to. I know having a marker to go to helps during grieving.”

Cullen nodded. “I understand. Then I will consult Josephine how best to make it known. Thank you for doing that. You didn’t have to go to such lengths.”

“They were my people too, Cullen,” Senna said.

“As a commander, I could not hope for better words from my superior.” He smiled. Senna didn’t know what to say as Cullen looked to Ashanna. “And thank you for participating, though you did not know them.”

“You’re welcome,” she answered quietly.

There was a short, awkward silence. “I have taken enough of your time. Let me know when you would like to resume our lessons, Senna.”

Senna agreed and he left them.

“. . . I have never seen anything like that. Have you somehow put this whole castle under a spell?” Ashanna teased.

“Maybe I have.” She laughed. “Maybe Mythal wooed them for me.”

“Whatever it is, keep doing it as long as you can. There might be some small hope they could respect us and our ways. Until the next Exalted March.”

“Don’t be too optimistic,” Senna said dryly.

Ashanna shrugged. They both knew it was true.

They made it as far as the main hall, sparsely occupied since it was between meal times, but they were stopped again.

“First!”

Senna turned to look, then nearly rolled her eyes at herself when she saw Ashanna do the same. Right. She was not the First here.

“What do you need?” Ashanna asked her hunter-scribe.

“We met another dalish in the courtyard. She says she’s part of a mercenary group here and they invited all of us to join them in the tavern this evening,” he said.

“I didn’t know about this,” Senna said with a frown. “What mercenary group?”

“She said they’re called the Chargers.”

“Bull’s people. Huh, I wish he would have told me,” she muttered, more to herself than her guests.

“Should we join them, First?” he asked.

Ashanna bit her lip, then nodded. “We have been invited. And we would not want to disgrace Senna’s people.”

Senna smiled. “I thought you would want to leave as soon as our ceremony was finished.”

“Seeing how a Dalish First leads the human Inquisition is of interest to our clan. The event deserves to be recorded. We would stay a few days to gather more information, if it doesn’t displease you,” Ashanna said.

“Not at all. I would be happy for your record, in case anything were to go wrong. I should write down my own journal of events too, now that I think about it,” Senna said.

Ashanna nodded at her scribe. “Let them know we accept.”

They agreed to meet the Chargers after supper, and Senna offered to go with them. She’d been relieved of most of her duties while her guests were in Skyhold - a small gift from her advisors - and knew that Ashanna and the others were still wary around so many people. She hoped her presence would soothe them and keep them out of any trouble with the more aggressive members of the Inquisition.

The tavern was already quite loud when Senna pushed open the door. That may have been because of her sensitive ears though. She wasn’t used to such condensed noise anymore. She was often alone now, or in the company of only a handful of people at a time.

She hadn’t been to Herald’s Rest before. She knew of its opening some weeks ago but had never had the time or inclination to visit. While she was usually more than happy to spend an evening in a throng of good company, the weight of her current position - as well as too many sleepless nights - made the idea foreign beyond reach.

Ashanna sidled cautiously behind her, face stoic to hide the roil of anxiety in her eyes. She instantly latched onto Senna’s wrist when a roar of “Inquisitor!” and “Herald!” filled the room.

Senna greeted as many as she could while they made their way further inside. She didn’t know many personally but she’d seen more than a few of their faces around Skyhold.

She moved towards a long table and was given a place at the head with Ashanna right next to her. Varric was opposite Ashanna, Iron Bull beside him, and Krem beside Ashanna. The rest of the Chargers - most of whom Senna hadn’t met - made up the remainder, with Blackwall and Sera at the opposite end. Senna saw Ashanna’s clanmates had taken seats closest to Dalish and Skinner.

“Care to join our game, Inquisitor?” Varric offered.

“Sure. What game?” She immediately thought some variation of card game but she should have asked before agreeing, because the next thing she knew Bull was calling over a drink for her.

“Two truths, one lie. Ever played it?” Varric asked.

“I haven’t.” She stared suspiciously at her full tankard. A glance up showed her Ashanna was smirking as she stuffed her pipe. No doubt proud of getting out of playing the game.

“It’s pretty simple. As the name implies, you say two things that are true about you, and one lie. If the person guesses which one’s the lie, you drink. If they get it wrong, they drink.”

“Yeah. Simple.” Senna frowned. She wasn’t looking forward to sharing any personal secrets in a tavern, but maybe she could stick to mundane things. She began to decide what answers she would give when it got to be her turn. Most of the stories were silly little things meant to lighten the air. Some people were drinking when it wasn’t their turn to play, and Senna watched Ashanna’s clanmates grow more and more comfortable in their surroundings.

She didn’t notice she was grinning until Krem turned to her. He had guessed Bull’s lie easily - no surprise since they knew each other well - and was ready for Senna to guess his.

“Let’s see how good you are, Inquisitor: I hate turnips, I once sewed a shirt back together while running, and I’ve had to pull a fang out of Chief’s foot before.”

Senna bit her lip. She honestly didn’t know much about Krem. He was Bull’s most trusted ally and a good soldier on the field, but other than that, she was guessing blindly.

“You don’t hate turnips?”

Krem grinned and shook his head. “Nope. Despise the things since we lived on ‘em for a week stuck on the Brecilian Passage.”

“Come on, Krem. That was one of my favorite jobs. Almost got killed by a tree,” Bull said.

“Yeah, knee deep in mud and getting stormed on every day. Sure your memory’s not going after getting hit in the head too much, Chief?”

“I only forget the bad parts.” Bull took another drink. “But it’s Senna’s turn now. I notice you haven’t taken a drink yet for guessing wrong.”

Senna made a show of looking annoyed and took a healthy gulp of ale. Then she turned to Varric.

“I’d like to point out this is highly unfair,” she started.

“Come on, Sunflower, you’re not that bad of a liar.”

“But you’re a good one. And you play a lot of Wicked Grace. You can probably spot all sorts of tells I don’t even know about,” she said, playfulness seeping into her tone.

“I’ll make sure to think about my answer so you don’t feel bad.” She noticed he didn’t say anything about being able to spot her lie.

“Okay, fine: I haven’t had long hair since I was 10, I once fell out of a tree while hiding from a clanmate and broke my arm, and I have a fox waiting for me back home.”

Varric let out an exaggerated hum and scratched his chin thoughtfully. Senna rolled her eyes. He already knew. Sure enough, he said,

“I don’t see you as one for owning a pet.”

She answered by taking a swig. Varric settled back in his chair, obviously pleased. He glanced at Ashanna.

“Sure you don’t want to join the game?”

“I’m content to observe,” she said. She seemed a little more relaxed than when they first sat down, but not by much.

As the night wore on and Senna found herself drinking more, laughing more, and enjoying the new games they played, she hardly noticed Ashanna getting antsy. Until she pulled on Senna’s sleeve.

“Have you had enough, lethallan? I think I should help you back to your room,” she offered.

“Yes. Probably. And you want to get out of here, right? Let’s go, then.” Senna knew she had to take care of her guest. And that meant getting her out of unwanted social situations. Her clanmates were drunker than Senna and would be too much trouble to bring with them.

Ashanna was there to steady her and they left with hardly a goodbye. No one really noticed anyway. Those that remained at the table were roaring drunk.

The night air sobered her a little as they meandered through the courtyard to the main hall. Everything had to be so far apart in Skyhold. And stairs. There were a lot of stairs everywhere. Did humans like stairs or something? Somebody had to like them. It wasn’t her.

Other things she didn’t like included getting sneaked up on by people she didn’t want to see. Like Solas. He practically walked up out of nowhere. Or from the rotunda. One of those. But he was there in the main hall while she was in the main hall and she felt like she had to say something.

“Oh. Solas. Hello. Yes, I need another drink now. Liona!” She called into the hall, expecting her usual shadow to appear from . . . somewhere. “Hey, LIONA.”

“I don’t think she’s here,” Ashanna said.

“One time I need her. Are we going to my room, or what? I have a bell, you know.”

“Right.” Ashanna was obviously trying not to smile at her. Not that there was anything to smile about. This was a completely serious situation. Solas sighed.

“Hey, don’t breathe disappointedly at me.” Senna pointed her finger in the general direction of his face. “I get enough of that. You could try to stop puckering your face for once too.”

“Inquisitor-”

“Oh, hush. Leave me alone. Go avoid me in some corner. I need to get to my room. Ugh, stairs.”

They left Solas behind as Ashanna helped her mount the absolutely ridiculous number of stairs to her quarters. There was no use in having so many stairs, except perhaps to intimidate a dwarf. She said as much to Ashanna, who laughed.

When they reached her familiar room Senna pulled the bell rope at her bedside. Liona came rushing in not much later and she sent her off for more wine.

There was something that resembled a conversation with Ashanna. The heady smell of burning elfroot. Bitter wine on her tongue.

The next thing she knew she was shivering. Somehow the icy mountain breeze had made its way into her room and wrapped around her completely. That was not what had woken her. It was the warm touch on her wrist, the hand wrapped loose around her frozen skin. What was Ashanna doing?

A male voice sighed gently, barely audible over the whistling wind.

Senna forced herself to wake completely; her bleary, heavy gaze focused on the figure closing in. Luminescent eyes flashed green under a bare head. She shrieked. Her hand scrambled, reached for one of the empty bottles at her hip, and struck as he retreated. Glass shattered across his raised shoulder.

She pounced, pinning him to cold stone, fist reared back with fire on her fingers.

The look in his eyes shoved her into reality. It was not lust or anger. Not even fear. He watched for her strike with all the resignation of a man awaiting penance.

Senna panted. Her muscles froze in place as she tried to make sense of what she’d done. Her muddled head was quickly clearing. Then she saw the blood.

“S-Solas?”

She couldn’t move. In her mind she got off of his chest and backed away. But she only trembled, heart frantic, head pounding.

She had tried to kill him.

“Ir abelas. I should have considered,” he mumbled, looking away as if he was the one that should be ashamed. Senna stared at the blood soaking through the sleeve of his tunic. There was probably glass in his arm. She should get up and heal him. She needed to get away.

“I can’t move,” Senna groaned. Through her growing headache and the shudder of her bones trying to regain control, the tears broke.

Every sob she had denied since the battle with Envy came rushing down on her like a river and she gripped his shirt in both hands. Solas reached out to help her off but she flinched. He drew his hand back. She cried harder. How pathetic. She got drunk off her ass and ended up overreacting to his presence. And instead of helping him after she’d injured him, she was sobbing all over him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she repeated.

_I know what’s real._

She had told herself that every time she saw him, every time they spoke. She told herself she knew who he was. But she didn’t. She was always on edge waiting for him to change, to reveal himself, to try to consume her. She kept waiting for him to become the monster she still feared. She had lied to herself to keep from admitting her own weakness.

And it brought her to this: trying to kill him because she didn’t know what was real.

“It was my fault,” he soothed. “I should have sent someone else.”

“It’s not -” but she couldn’t find breath to finish.

Slowly, slowly, she regained herself. Senna slid away and wiped her sleeve across her face to dry it. The balcony - she didn’t know how she’d ended up out there alone - was dark and she watched his eyes flash green again as the meager moonlight reflected in them.

“Solas,” she started, voice cracking.

“Ir abelas, lethallan. I wish I did not cause you pain,” he said, a sorrow that cut her heart in his gaze.

“I caused _you_ pain,” she countered.

He gave a mirthless chuckle. “Not much in comparison to what you are capable of.”

Senna pushed through her nausea and grasped his injured arm. She tried to focus enough to bring a healing spell to his skin but he stopped her with a gentle touch.

“You are in no state to cast.”

“I’m sorry.” She let go and sat limply in the cold dark. In a moment they were bathed in soft blue. Senna heard the soft clink of glass hitting the stone. She felt like, in the glow, she caught a glimpse of the weariness beneath his mask. A deep quiet stretched between them.

“I saw what Envy did to you,” Senna muttered as if baring her soul. “In the Fade.”

“You should not have had to.”

“I knew something was wrong.” Tears rolled fresh down her cheeks as she admitted her guilt, eyes trained on his necklace. “I kept getting this feeling . . . things that it would say, things that it would . . . do. It said no one knew you enough to spot an imposter. And it was right.”

“How could you have known? You had only instinct and suspicion and both can lie. I do not hold you responsible. In truth, I was astonished when you did come to find me. I knew you would find out the demon eventually but I held little hope it would be in time for my own life. For that, I owe you an apology,” Solas said.

She shook her head and wiped her eyes. “I wouldn’t have counted on me either.”

“That is not what I meant.” He sighed. “In any case, the beast caused far more damage to you than to me.”

“Solas.” She was already crying again. Every time she thought it was over it would start anew. She had to force her next words through low sobs.

“I don’t want to be afraid of you.”

He said nothing for a long time, letting her cry unhindered. Her face felt hot with emotion and the embarrassment that she was the only one so affected. She couldn’t bear to look at his face.

“. . . I know,” he finally whispered.

Hearing that was a relief as much as it shattered her weak heart. She wished she could say she would stop, that from this moment on she wouldn’t be afraid. But she had already lied enough about that. She knew she couldn’t will away her injuries. She had tried.

“You’re shivering. We should move inside,” Solas suggested when she calmed.

“I don’t want to wake Ashanna.”

His brow raised. “If she hasn’t woken already, I doubt anything short of a siege will rouse her.”

Senna laughed - watery and hoarse, but she laughed.

The blast of warmth from the open door was like being given new life. The fire was still burning, however low, and the whole room smelt of elfroot. Ashanna was indeed asleep on the rafters, wrapped up in blankets stolen from the bed and snoring. A strange euphoria crashed over Senna in that midnight stillness, as if she was seeing everything with new eyes; as if she was new. Her head was surprisingly clear and, for a moment, free of foul thoughts.

“I apologize for disturbing you, Inquisitor. I shall endeavor not to do so again.”

Senna’s mood dimmed when she saw Solas’ straight back and stiff arms. He started to leave.

“Solas?”

He stopped and faced her again.

“Could you call me by name?” she asked.

He watched her for a long moment before a softness settled in his eyes. “Of course, Senna.”

“Theneras’eth,” she said with a small smile. It was the first genuine one she had given in his presence in months.

Solas responded in kind and padded down the stairs. The edge of stiffness had fallen from his shoulders.

Senna wiped the remaining tears from her eyes and fell into bed, utterly exhausted.


End file.
